5 LIBRARY OF -CONGRESS. J 



#{%•. - te"sw %.*#£>■ i 

t • -#&# IA.75 ! 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



*Hi 





- 



THE 



AUTHORSHIP OF SHAKESPEARE. 



BY i/ 

NATHANIEL HOLMES. 



Tb yhp avro voziv etrriv Te kcl\ eiVcu. — Parmenides* 



THIRD EDITION. 

WITH AN APPENDIX OF ADDITIONAL MATTERS, INCLUDING A NOTICE 
OP THE RECENTLY DISCOVERED NORTHUMBERLAND MSS. 






NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY HDRD AND HOUGHTON. 

BOSTON : H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 

€ambrt&gc: CIjc Etbcx'S'iTJc 'Bxiii. 

1875. 



1*7-5 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

Hurd and Houghton. 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 

New York. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BT 

H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



TO HIS EXCELLENCY 

THE HONORABLE THOMAS C. FLETCHER, 

GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF MISSOURI, 

AS A WORTHY REPRESENTATIVE 

OF THE CIVIL AND SOCIAL PROGRESS OF THE AGE, 

WHEREIN THE ARTS AND SCIENCES, 

PHILOSOPHY, AND RELIGIOUS CULTURE, 

ARE TO FIND FREE COURSE AND BE GLORIFIED, 

THIS HUMBLE CONTRIBUTION TO THE LITERATURE OF THE TIME 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY 

TEE AUTHOR, 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 



The author takes this occasion to acknowledge the 
friendly consideration with which the former editions 
have been received by the public, so far as he is aware 
that the work has attracted attention. Those editions 
having been exhausted, another still seems to be 
called for. On its first appearance, the book was 
noticed by many of the public journals in this coun- 
try, and by some in England, and in a manner for 
the most part highly complimentary to the writer, 
though by no means all were prepared to accede to 
his conclusions. Nor have all been ready to admit 
that he had added much to the considerations and 
proofs that had already been presented by others 
before him. The subject, however, has continued to 
be discussed in various ways, and, more recently, the 
candid and able summaries of the argument, which 
have appeared in " Fraser's Magazine," " Scribner's 
Monthly," and other periodicals of high literary char- 
acter, would seem to indicate that the general interest 
in the question had rather increased than diminished. 

The author has not hitherto found reason to modify 
his views, or statements, in any material respects. 
Such additional matters as have been brought to his 
notice, and were deemed of sufficient importance, 
have been added in the Appendix ; and he trusts 
they may furnish a further justification for this new 



IV PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 

edition of the work. He does not suppose that the 
inquiry has been exhausted, nor that the truth of the 
theory has } T et been demonstrated to the satisfaction 
of all, but he scarcely expects himself to find another 
occasion for touching the subject. 



PREFACE. 



In these days, perhaps, there needs be no apology 
for writing a book. But a book without a preface, 
like a dinner without a grace, would seem to be un- 
civil. Let us have, at least, " so much as will serve 
to be prologue to an egg and butter." This book 
must speak for itself: I did not see any good reason 
why it should not be printed. It may be, that the 
belles-letters critics will think little of it, or the trade 
still less, or the fixed orthodoxies, that it ought never 
to have been written at all, or the philosophers, that 
it is no great affair at best. But inasmuch as thought 
and knowledge among men lie stratified, as it were, / 
like the densities of the ocean, or the air, in grada- 
tions infinite between the lower deeps and the higher 
realms, this book, like any other that is thrown into 
the (lowing sea of things, may find its own level 
and so float somewhere ; howsoever that level should 
come near to measuring the weight of book, writer, 
and reader. It does not presume to contain anything 
that is positively new, or that was unknown before : 
it claims only to state things in its own way. I have 
sometimes thought I had hit upon a new idea, or 
discovered a new fact, but I was pretty sure to find 
the same thing stated, or glanced at, in a week or 
so, in some newspaper, or in some book, new or 
old, and for that matter (it might be) as old as the 



\ 



VI PREFACE. 

hieroglyphics. If some things in this book should 
be new to some readers, they will bear in mind the 
saying of Plato, that " what is strange is the result 
of ignorance in the case of all " ; and if, to others, 
some things should appear to be either not new, or, 
if new, not true, they will, of course, exercise the 
common privilege and judge for themselves. 

Doubtless there have been many who could never 
rest satisfied with the story of William Shakespeare, 
any more than a Coleridge, or a Schlegel; nor attain 
to any clear solution of the problem, that the spon- 
taneous genius of a born poet, without the help of 
much learning, should come to see deeper into all 
the mysteries of God, Nature, and Man, and write 
better about the universal world, than the most ac- 
complished scholars, critics, and philosophers, and be 
himself still unaware that he had done anything re- 
markable, wholly indifferent to fame (what might be 
no great wonder), and even (what may be more to 
the point) utterly heedless of the preservation of 
works which the author, howsoever he might deem 
them to be but trifles idly cast from him, could not 
but know to be " the wanton burthen of the prime" 
and the best (in that kind) of the age in which he 
lived, or of many ages : — as if he had been one, 

" whose hand, 
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away, 
Richer than all his tribe " ; — 

an unparalleled mortal, indeed! — nor of that other 
problem, that a common under- actor should turn 
poet, and, rummaging over the hereditary lumber of 
the play - house, should gather up the best of the 
traditional material, and through the limbec of his 



PREFACE. Vll 

capacious brain distil the quintessence of British 
genius from time immemorial, — a truly representa- 
tive man, forsooth ! Incredulous men that have been 
born as well as poets, and perhaps never believed so 
much as the tale about Santa Claus, not to speak 
of many other prodigious miracles, may have pre- 
ferred to disbelieve all the biographers, critics, and 
teachers ; or, if still believing them, to deny, flatly, 
in the outset, without further question, or any par- 
ticular search, that there could be, or was, anything 
so very great in this Shakespeare drama after all ; or 
they may even have tried to persuade themselves 
that this ingenious actor had, by frequent hearing, 
caught the manner of the stage, and learned like a 
parrot to imitate the tone, style, and diction of trag- 
edy and comedy alike ; still believing that no deep 
learning, no superior wisdom, no high art, and no 
divine revelation, beyond the natural flow of good 
native wit and sense, was to be found in these plays, 
and that what little learning the author had, was all 
borrowed, or picked up about the streets and theatres, 
allowing only that he was gifted with some sharp 
powers of observation, " a facetious grace in writing," 
and a pretty large amount of faculty in general. And 
so, not imagining that the highest and best things 
could spontaneously well up in such a man as from 
an original fountain of inspiration, they may have 
laid him up on a shelf, and never afterwards looked 
for such things in his works ; and the jewels that lay 
scattered within sight may have been passed by un- 
seen, as if they had been pearls cast before swine : — 

" 'T is very pregnant, 
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take 't, 



Vlll PREFACE. 

Because we see it ; but what we do not see, 
We tread upon, and never think of it." 

Mtas.fo7' Meas., Act 71. Sc. 1. 

Bacon found it to be just so with the history of 
Winds ; for, says he, " it is evident, that the dullness 
of men is such and so infelicitous, that when things 
are put before their feet, they do not see them, unless 
admonished, but pass right on." It would stand to 
reason, that the most precious things would not be 
strewn abroad thus by a mere swine-herd, if they 
had not come into his possession in an accidental 
or some other way, and without his having much 
knowledge of their real value ; nor by a coney-catch- 
ing, beer-drinking idler, or a common play-actor, or 
even a prosperous stage-manager. It must be ad- 
mitted that learning does not come by instinct ; nor 
can sensible men be made to believe that high phi- 
losophy can come by fantastic miracle. There never 
was any royal road to mathematics, though there 
have been very royal mathematicians. 

An article appeared in Putnam's Magazine for 
January 1856 (afterwards known to have been writ* 
ten by Delia Bacon), in which some general consid- 
erations were set forth with much eloquence and 
ability, why William Shakespeare could not have 
written the plays which have been attributed to 
him ; and the opinion was also pretty distinctly in- 
timated, that Lord Bacon was the real author of 
them, or, at least, that he had had some hand in the 
work ; but no proofs were then adduced. Being 
much struck with this idea, and for my own satisfac- 
tion, I began to look for the evidence on which such 
a proposition might rest, and finding it very consid- 
erable, and indeed quite amazing, I had thrown my 



PREFACE. ix 

notes into some form, before the publication of Miss 
Bacon's work in 1857. 1 Her book not appearing to 
have satisfied the critical world of the truth of her 
theory, much more than the " Letter to Lord Elles- 
mere," by Mr. William Henry Smith, I have thought 
it worth while to give them the results of my studies 
also, which have been considerably extended, since 
that date ; and if enough be not found herein to 
settle the question on impregnable grounds, it may 
at least tend to exculpate them from any supposition 
of mental aberration in so far as they have ascribed 
this authorship to Francis Bacon. But I do not at 
all agree with her opinion that any other person had 
a hand in the work : on the contrary, I will endeavor 
to show 7 that the whole genuine canon of Shake- 
speare was written by this one and the same author. 
It may be that some persons have been already 
convinced of this fact : but the critics appear to be 
agreed in rejecting the theory altogether. More direct 
and palpable proofs seem to be required ; for this 
" our Shakespeare " was not to be stripped of the 
peerless mantle he had worn unquestioned for above 
two centuries and a half, on mere generalities, how- 
ever conclusive to the mind of the philosophical 
thinker. Certainly, if he is to be put on trial for his 
name and reputation, he has a right to be confronted 
with the proofs in the high court of criticism ; and 
his jury, which is the great republic of letters, will 
require the best and the most ample evidence to be 
produced, before they will agree to disrobe him of 
all his honors. On nothing less than proof, the most 
positive, direct, and complete, will those " foreign 

1 Philosophy of the Plays of Shakspere Unfolded. By Delia Bacon, with 
a Preface by Nathaniel Hawthorne. London and Boston, 1857. 



X PREFACE. 

nations and next ages," to whom the final appeal 
was made, now consent (such is the tenacity of long 
adverse possession) to eject the ass from the lion's 
skin, and turn over the rich legacy they have so long 
accepted in his name to the credit of another, though 
that other be one who considered his name and 
memory worth bequeathing to them : — 

" Blanch. 0, well did he become that lion's robe 
That did disrobe the lion of that robe! 

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him 
As great Alcides' shews upon an ass. — 
But, ass, I '11 take that burthen from your back, 
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack." 

K. John, Act II. Sc. 1. 

It should be understood, to what manner of man 
this authorship belongs ; for it is not only 

" a fault to heaven, 
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
To reason most absurd," 

but a positive injury done to learning and philosophy, 
and to every individual scholar and man, who shall 
be taught to believe the enormous impossibility that 
such works could be, and were, written by mere 
genius without learning, or by some more fantasti- 
cally supernatural inspiration. Does not any honest 
man feel an unutterable indignation, when he dis- 
covers (after long years of thought and study, 
perhaps), that he has been all the while misled by 
false instruction, and that, consequently, the primest 
sources of truth have been left lumbering his shelves 
in neglect, because he could not, or even because he 
could (for it would be much the same thing with 
him, if he could) be made to believe that anything 
more could come from a very common (or indeed 
a very uncommon) person, than such a man could 



PREFACE. X) 

know, and that he has thus been drawn aside by 
false shadows from those paths which alone can lead 
to a comprehensible philosophy of the universe, the 
real basis at last of his everlasting accountabilities, 
and been put off and befooled with paltry child's 
fables ? By the help of the Eternal Power and such 
abilities as we possess, let the truth and the proof 
of it come forth as fast, and spread as wide, as it is 
possible to make it. There is no danger of its getting 
too far by any means whatever. 

The chief object of this work is, to do something 
toward making the truth of this matter appear, still 
more clearly, and on other and (if possible) quite 
unanswerable grounds. It was written under the 
supposition that no one else would undertake to do 
the same thing better ; and it is published because 
it is believed that the dtity is not yet sufficiently 
done (and I know very well how inadequate is this 
attempt to do it), that sublime duty, which the great 
testator, by his last will, left to foreign nations and 
the next ages to perform, whenever they should be 
able like himself to comprehend "the universal world," 
and, with Plato, to recognize the Philosopher, the 
Poet, the Seer, and the Saviour of men, for all one, — 
justice to his name and memory. 

For the quotations from the Plays of Shakespeare, 
I have preferred to make them conform to the text 
of the edition edited by Richard Grant White, and 
published in Boston, in 1859-1862, except in a 
very few instances in which his emendations, or 
previous readings, appeared to me to be so clearly 
erroneous that I could not accept them ; and I have 
done this the more readily, because this edition has 



XU PREFACE. 

evidently been edited with great care, good critical 
judgment, and excellent scholarship, and especially 
for the reason that the editor has taken the Folio of 
1623 as the basis of his text and his criticism. 

For the text of Bacon, I have used the edition of 
his works edited by Basil Montagu (London 1825), 
and the American republication of it (Philadelphia 
1854), and also the excellent edition of Spedding, 
Ellis, and Heath (since the republication of it in 
Boston, in 1860-1864), which has been edited with 
extraordinary learning and ability ; but as the larger 
part of my work was done before this edition ap- 
peared, I have not thought it worth while to under- 
take the labor of making the references conform to 
either one edition only. Wherever I have discovered 
an erroneous reading to have been corrected by the 
later and better edition, I have not failed to profit 
by it In making quotations from the Latin works, I 
have not hesitated to give my own translations, when 
no better were at hand, but always with especial 
care to preserve as far as possible the style, manner, 
and diction of the author, and, at all events, the 
exact meaning of the original, as it would be ex- 
pressed in .the language of modern philosophy. 

For the Letters of Bacon, I have had to depend 
mainly upon the edition of Montagu, but with the 
valuable assistance of the first two volumes of the 
" Letters and Life of Lord Bacon " by James Sped- 
ding (London 1861-2), which contain the letters and 
occasional works down to the year 1601. carefully 
edited and explained in chronological order ; and I 
have regretted exceedingly that the regaining vol- 
umes of this interesting and important work have 
not yet appeared. 



PREFACE. Xlll 

The Frontispiece, engraved and brought to life by 
Mr. Joseph .Andrews of Boston, is taken from the 
engraving (in Montagu's edition) of the white mar- 
ble monument which was erected to the memory of 
Lord Bacon by " the care and gratitude " of Sir 
Thomas Meautys, within the precincts of old Veru- 
lam, " representing his full portraiture in the posture 
of studying," says Dr. Rawley, together with a part 
of the inscription composed by that " rare wit," Sir 
Henry Wotton. 

"Without more, the work is submitted to the con- 
sideration and judgment of the general jury of candid 
readers ; and, as more than one author has said be- 
fore, if they shall find half the pleasure in reading it 
that I have had in writing it, they shall be welcome. 

N. HOLMES. 
St. Louis, May 21st, 1866. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 



PRELIMINARIES. — SIIAKESPEARE. 



§ 1. EARLY LIFE 

§ 2. EMPLOYMENTS 

§ 3. MANUSCRIPTS 

§ 4. HIS, LEARNING 

§ 5. HIS STUDIES 

§ 6. EARLY PLAYS 

§ 7. DOUBTFUL PLAYS 

§ 8. THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS 

§ 9. THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES 



I aGE 
1 

5 

7 
9 
28 
31 
50 
56 
65 



CHAPTER II. 

PRELIMINARIES. — BACON. 



§ 1. CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
§ 2. CIRCUMSTANCES 
§ 3. THE HISTORICAL PLAYS 
§ 4. THE GREATER PLAYS 
§ 5. ASSOCIATES 



CHAPTER III 

FURTHER PROOFS 



§ 1. PARALLEL WORKS 

§ 2. ben jon son . 

§ 3. Matthew's postscript . 

§ 4. contemporary writers 

§ 5. reasons for concealment 

§ 6. bacon a poet 

§ 7. gesta grayorum 

§ 8. FRAGMENTS .... 



81 
110 
117 
131 
136 



148 
165 
172 
177 
179 
184 
207 
228 



XVI 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER IV. 

MORE DIRECT PROOFS. 

PAOB 

§ 1. the richard ii 239 

§ 2. the henry viii 273 

§ 3. julius c*:sar 286 

§ 4. the soothsayer 290 

§5. macbeth. — vis10n3 295 

§ 6. PARALLELISMS 303 



§1. 

§2. 
§3. 



CHAPTER V. 



MODELS. 



" ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES 

THE AS YOU LIKE IT. — A MODEL 

THE TIMON OF ATHENS. — A MODEL 



328 
344 

354 



CHAPTER VI. 

PHILOSOPHICAL EVIDENCES. 

§ 1. BACON A PHILOSOPHER 

§ 2. THE PHILOSOPHER A POET 

§ 3. UNIVERSALS 

§ 4. CUPID AND NEMESIS .... 

§ 5. SCIENCE OF MATTER . . . 

§ 6. SCIENCE OF SOUL .... 

§ 7. ALL SCIENCE 

§ 8. SCIENCE IN POETRY .... 

§ 9. REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION 
§ 10. MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY 



379 

393 
398 
409 
415 
426 
438 
444 
452 
464 



CHAPTER VII. 

SPIRITUAL ILLUMINATION. 



§ 1. THE TRUE RELIGION 

§ 2. DESTINY .... 

§ 3. THE GREATER PROVIDENCE 

§ 4. THE LESSER PROVIDENCE . 

§ 5. REVERENCE AND DEGREE 



479 
496 
523 
537 
558 



CHAPTER VIII. 

CONCLUSION. 



§ 1. REFORMATION OF ABUSES 
§ 2. PHILOSOPHER AND POET 



576 

589 



THE 

AUTHORSHIP OF SHAKESPEARE. 

CHAPTER I. 

PRELIMINARIES. — SHAKESPEARE. 

" Do not inflate plain things into maryels, but reduce marvels to plain things." 

Bacon. 

§ 1. EARLY LIFE. 

The biography of William Shakespeare may now be 
considered as in the main settled and fixed for all time. 
Modern research has explored every forgotten corner in 
search of new facts ; all discoverable archives and dusty 
repositories of lost books and derelict papers have been 
ransacked ; every known record, monument, and relic, of 
the age in which he lived, has been thoroughly questioned^ 
even to the last trace and tradition of his name and family ; 
and, failing any further genuine data, the most ingenious 
and consummate forgeries have been attempted. And if 
all honest inquiry be not yet exhausted, it has been made 
sufficiently clear, at least, that but little more can be added 
hereafter to what is already known of his personal history, 
and nothing that can be expected materially to change the 
general scope and character of the latest received account 
of his life. He is thus delivered down to us as essentially 
an uneducated man, whether we are to speak of education 
in the sense of modern times, or of the sixteenth century, 
or of the ancient schools. True, there have been great 
self-educated men in all times ; as, indeed, who is not, at 
last, in one sense, a self-educated man ? That there is a 



2 EARLY LIFE. 

vast difference, however, between the learning and philoso- 
phy which the same genius will attain to, in a given time, 
in any age, with the aid of all existing helps, and that 
which he may reach without such aid, no man needs to be 
informed. School, or no school, without books and studies, 
we know that learning is impossible. 

Beyond that primary instruction which could be obtained 
at the free grammar-school of Stratford-on-Avon, in which 
Latin was taught by one master, nearly three centuries 
ago, it is pretty certain that William Shakespeare had no 
learning from public institutions, or from private tuition. 
His father, John Shakespeare, a glover by trade, sometime 
wool-stapler and butcher, at different times constable, high 
bailiff, and alderman of Stratford-on-Avon, and, at last, a 
gentleman, by grant of a coat-of-arms from the Herald's 
College, in 1599, at the instance of his son William, when 
he had attained to prosperity, was no doubt a respectable 
burgher of that place, but certainly so illiterate that he 
could not w r rite his own name, and executed written instru- 
ments by making his mark ; and the same was the case 
with his mother, notwithstanding that she was descended 
of an ancient family of goodly estate. From the manner 
in which the name was written by members of the family 
in Warwickshire, it is evident that it was usually pro- 
nounced Shaxper, though it seems to have had no fixed 
spelling among them, not even with William himself, for 
his autographic signatures to his will appear to have it both 
Shahspere and Shakspeare ; but it was printed in his life- 
time, and in the Folio of 1623, and passed into the con- 
temporary literature, as Shakespeare ; and so let it remain. 1 

William Shakespeare w 7 as born at Stratford-on-Avon, on 
the 23d day of April, 1564, and according to what is known 
of his early life, he attended the free grammar-school of 
that place for some few years and until about the year 
1578, when he was taken from school, his assistance being 
1 Halli well's Life of William Shakespeare, London, 1848. 



EARLY LIFE. 3 

required by his father in his business at home. The occu- 
pations in which his father appears to have been engaged, 
at this time, were those of an ordinary yeoman, including 
the business of a glover, a wool-stapler, and, as some say, a 
butcher also ; and he was, at the same time, and down to 
the year 1586, an alderman of the corporation of Stratford. 
On the 28th day of November, 1582, the son William was 
married, at the age of eighteen, to Ann Hathaway, some 
years older than himself, and the daughter of a neighbor- 
ing farmer. Their eldest daughter, Susanna, was born in 
May following ; but his latest biographer thinks there must 
have been some preliminary espousals, in accordance with 
a frequent custom of the time, as early as the summer of 
1582. 1 After this date, his father appears to have fallen 
into embarrassed circumstances. He was superseded in his 
office of alderman, in 1586, for non-attendance, and was 
presented as a recusant, in 1592, " for not coming to church 
for feare of process for debt." There is indubitable evi- 
dence that, for several years prior to 1587, different theat- 
rical companies from London occasionally visited Stratford- 
on-Avon (the native place of some of the actors), in some 
instances, under the patronage of John Shakespeare and 
other aldermen ; and it is highly probable that the son 
William would be attracted to their company. There are 
uncertain traditions also that, during this period, he had 
been in the habit of drinking beer with the pot-house 
clubs, hunting coneys for amusement, and poaching on the 
neighboring deer-parks by way of romance, until he was 
driven away from Stratford by the persecution of Sir 
Thomas Lucy ; but whether from this cause, or driven by 
stress of poverty, or merely drawn by the attractions of the 
theatre, it appears that, about the year 1587, he went up to 
London, carrying with him but a small stock of learning, 
and became attached to the theatre in a very humble capac- 
ity. Ben Jonson informs us that he had " but small Latin 
i HaUiwell. 



4 EARLY LIFE. 

and less Greek " ; and " rare Ben " must certainly have 
known the truth of the matter. Indeed, it is plain his 
learning must have been little enough, however obtained ; 
and in this, all the traditions concur. Precisely how his 
time was employed, during these nine years after leaving 
the grammar-school, of course we cannot certainly know ; 
but there is no intimation in anything that has come down 
to us, that he was at all given to books, or to studies of any 
kind. The employments in which it would seem to be 
almost certain he must have been engaged, the circum- 
stances which surrounded him, and the few details of his life 
which have been preserved, would all go to exclude the 
hypothesis of his having given any considerable attention 
to letters or studies, in this period. There is no written 
composition of his in existence, belonging to this time, and 
no proof that there ever was any, except a mere tradition 
of a lampoon upon Sir Thomas Lucy, of which no scrap 
has been authentically preserved. The verses which later 
traditions have attributed to him, whether as fragments of 
this supposed lampoon, or as epitaphs and epigrams written 
towards the close of his career, are, as any one may see, 
but miserable doggerel at best, and might have been writ- 
ten by the sorriest poetaster. With Halliwell and other 
critics, though immaterial to our purpose, we may safely 
reject them all as having no reliable basis of authenticity, 
and as necessarily implying, on the supposition of such 
basis, "a deterioration of power for which no one has 
assigned a sufficient reason." * The critic who would find 
a trace of the great poet in these performances, should 
remember Bacon's caution to the interpreter of nature : 
u If the sow with her snout should happen to imprint the 
letter A upon the ground, wouldst thou, therefore, imagine 
she could write out a whole tragedy as one letter ? " 2 

i Halliwell, 270. 

2 Interp. of Nat, Works, by Montagu, (London), XV., 101; Temporis 
Partus Mas., Works, by Spedding, Ellis, and Heath, (Boston), VII., 30. 



EMPLOYMENTS. 5 

§ 2. EMPLOYMENTS. 

That his first employment, on coming to London, was 
that of a link-boy, holding horses at the door of the theatre, 
as some traditions represent, would seem to be very ques- 
tionable ;^but that it was not in any capacity above that of 
a mere ;i servitor," or under-actor, his most careful biogra- 
phers seem to admit as highly probable, if not quite cer- 
tain. The first certain knowledge that we have of him 
in London, however, is of the date of 1592, when there 
seems to have been a distinct allusion to his name in 
Greene's " Groatsworth of Wit," in which, apparently 
speaking for himself and other writers for the stage against 
the actors, " those Anticks garnisht in our colours," Greene 
says : " Yes, trust them not ; for there is an upstart crow 
beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygres heart, 
wrapt in a players hyde, supposes hee is as well able to 
bombast out a blank verse as the best of you ; and beeing 
an absolute Johannes factotum, is, in his owne conceyt, the 
only Shake-scene in a countrey." 1 From this it may be 
inferred that he was beginning to have some kind of repu- 
tation as an author of plays, and, in 1593-4, the " Venus 
and Adonis " and the K Rape of Lucrece " are dedicated to 
the Earl of Southampton under his name. From this 
time forward a few scattered notices of him have been 
gathered up from contemporary records and documents 
relating to purchases of lands, his money dealings with his 
neighbors, and ordinary business transactions ; but, abating 
all merely mythical traditions of uncertain origin, and the 
impudent forgeries of these later times, no further authen- 
tic reference to his position in the theatre occurs until 
1598, when his name is mentioned by Meres as the reputed 
author of several of these plays, and two of them are 
printed with his name as author on the title-page, in that 
year. That he was one of the inhabitants of Southwark, 
i See Halliwell's Life, 144. 



6 EMPLOYMENTS. 

dwelling near the Bear Garden in 1596, seems to rest upon 
very questionable authority; but, in 1597, he had purchased 
New Place, in Stratford-on-Avon, where his family contin- 
ued to reside until his death. In 1598, we find him lend- 
ing money to his neighbors, and performing his part on the 
stage ; and in 1599, he had succeeded in obtaining for his 
father the grant of a coat of arms from the Herald's Col- 
lege, which descended to himself in 1601. *And in 1604, 
when the perfected " Hamlet " had been produced, he had 
become a leading manager and sharer in the Globe and 
Blackfriars, and his name stood second only in the list of 
patentees, " His Majesty's Servants." From this date until 
1613, the personal notices that remain to us exhibit him as 
being always very attentive to matters of business, rapidly 
growing in estate, purchasing farms, houses, and tythes in 
Stratford, bringing suits for small sums against various 
persons for malt delivered, money loaned, and the like, 
carrying on agricultural pursuits and other kinds of traffic, 
with " a good grip o' the siller," and executing business 
commissions in London for his Stratford neighbors, while 
we are to suppose he was, at the same time, producing such 
plays as the " Hamlet," the "Macbeth," the " Othello," the 
" Lear," and the " Julius Caesar " ; whence it might cer- 
tainly be concluded, that he had an excellent capacity for 
business in addition to his other arts and superhuman gifts ; 
but there is nowhere the slightest note or trace of his liter- 
ary occupations. 

He had now acquired a brilliant reputation and an ample 
estate. It seems probable that he quit acting upon the 
stage about the year 1608, and that, in 1610, he finally 
retired from any active participation in the affairs of the 
theatre, though he may have still continued to receive for a 
time his share of the income as one of the largest proprie- 
tors ; but how long, it is not certainly known. It would 
seem probable, however, that he had parted with his inter- 
est in the theatres sometime before the 30th of June, 1613, 



MANUSCRIPTS. 7 

when the Globe theatre was destroyed by fire. It is known 
that as late as March, 1613, he made the purchase of a 
house in the Blackfriars ; and this is the last transaction in 
which he is positively ascertained to have been concerned 
in London. After this date, we hear of him only at Strat- 
ford-on-Avon, attending to business and the ordinary affairs 
of life, leisurely enjoying the social intercourse of his neigh- 
bors and his family, until his death in 1616. Indeed, 
throughout his life (as his most zealous biographer is 
obliged to confess), " the best evidence we can produce 
exhibits him as paying more regard to his social affairs 
than to his profession." 1 And so, it would seem to be true, 
as some still think, that, in the words of Pope, — 

" Shakespeare, whom you and every playhouse-bill 
Style the divine, matchless, what you will, 
For gain, not glory, wing'd his roving flight, 
And grew immortal in his own despight." 

§ 3. MANUSCRIPTS. 

No original manuscript of any play, or poem, letter, or 
other prose composition, in the handwriting of William 
Shakespeare, has ever been discovered : none is known to 
have been preserved within the reach of the remotest defi- 
nite tradition. It does not appear by any direct proof that 
the original manuscript of any one of the plays or poems 
was ever seen, even in his own time, in his own handwrit- 
ing, under such circumstances as to afford any conclusive 
evidence, however probable, that he was the original author. 
" I remember," says Ben Jonson, " the players have often 
mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writ- 
ing (whatsoever he penn'd) hee never blotted out line." 
We have only to suppose for a moment that the manu- 
scripts may have been copied by him from some unknown 
complete and finished originals, which were kept a secret 
iom the world, and this wonder of the players would be 
1 Halliwell, 194. 



8 MANUSCRIPTS. 

at once explained. Meres, in 1598, speaks of "his sugred 
sonnets among his private friends," as if they had been cir- 
culated in manuscript ; but even this does not exclude the 
possibility of another having been the author, in the same 
way, though in itself highly improbable at first view. That 
he was universally reputed to be the author of these works, 
in his own time, not merely by the public in general, but 
by contemporary writers, his fellows of the theatre, the 
printers and publishers, and some great personages, and 
that the fact was never publicly questioned, in that age, nor 
indeed until a very recent date, must be admitted, though 
some evidence may be adduced herein, tending to show 
that the contrary was known, or at least strongly suspected, 
by some few persons at that day. It is enough here to 
remark, that this reputation alone is not absolutely conclu- 
sive of the question. No more is that other very pregnant 
circumstance, the fact that the " Venus and Adonis " and 
the " Rape of Lucrece " were dedicated to the Earl of 
Southampton under the name of William Shakespeare ; for 
it is clearly possible, however improbable at first view, that 
even this may have been arranged and designed as a cover 
for the real author. In short, there is no positive and 
direct evidence in any contemporary record, fact, circum- 
stance, or event, relating to Shakespeare, which is in itself 
of such a nature that it must be accepted in his favor as 
conclusive of the question of this authorship. He makes 
no mention of his manuscripts, or literary property, in his 
_ will ; *nor is there a trace of evidence that they ever came 
into the possession of his executors, or of any member of 
his family. But for this there may have been the less occa- 
sion, if we assume that the manuscript copies had all been 
sold to the theatre, and that not a single duplicate copy 
had ever been retained in his own possession. It might be 
possible, indeed, that some of them may have been burn': 
with the Globe theatre in 1013: when the Fortune was 
burnt, in 1621, we know the play-books were all lost. It is 



HIS LEARNING. 9 

a wholly gratuitous assumption, however, though barely 
possible, that they were heedlessly cast aside into old 
chests, and suffered to be destroyed by fires, or that they 
fell into the hands of ignorant persons to be used for waste 
paper. If he had contemplated a revision of his works for 
publication during his own life, from the accomplishment 
of which he was prevented by sudden illness and death, it 
is scarcely credible that he should not have given some 
instructions to that end, either to his executors in his will, 
or to some confidential friend on whom such injunction 
would not have been lost. Heming and Condell give us 
no intimation, in their Preface to the Folio of 1623, from 
what source they had received " the true original copies " : 
we are left to infer that they had gathered them up from 
the theatres owned by the company. 

§ 4. HIS LEARNING. 

For the learning of Shakespeare, his knowledge of his- 
tory and of the manners, customs, and literature of the 
ancients, his acquaintance with foreigr languages, his nat- 
ural science and metaphysical philc* jphy, his skill in the 
medical lore of his time, as also in the laws of England, 
his familiarity with the manners of the Court and high 
society, the vast range of his observation in all the realms 
of nature and art, as well as in all that pertains to the civil 
state, or to the affairs of private life, or to the characters, 
passions, and affections of men and women, or to human 
life and destiny, the subtle profundity of his intellect, and 
his extraordinary insight into all the relations of things, — 
all this, and much more than can be stated, must wholly 
depend upon the argument to be drawn from the internal 
evidence contained in the writings themselves, not only 
unsupported in any adequate manner, but for the most part 
absolutely contradicted by the known facts of his personal 
history It is apparent that this argument can have no 
weight whatever in favor of William Shakespeare, until the 



10 HIS LEARNING. 

fact be established that he was really the autnor of these 
works ; and this is the very question we have in hand. 

The learning and philosophy of these plays of Shake- 
speare, especially since the feeble attempt of Dr. Farmer 
to make them appear to be possible for the supposed 
author, have been a matter of wonder to editorial critics, 
and a stumbling-block to all great writers, who have treated 
of the subject. Even Dr. Johnson was willing to admit he 
must have had " Latin enough to grammaticize his Eng- 
lish," while conceding that Ben Jonson must have known, 
and " ought to decide the controversy." * Pope, knowing 
well enough that there was " certainly a vast difference 
between learning and languages, thought it was " plain he 
had much reading, at least," but was obliged, at last, to 
declare that " he seems to have known the world by intui- 
tion, to have looked through human nature at one glance, 
and to be the only author that gives ground for a very new 
opinion, that the philosopher and even the man of the 
world may be born, as well as the poet." 2 Steevens and 
Malone, after laborious research, undertook to produce a 
list of the translations of ancient authors, known to have 
existed in English in the time of Shakespeare, as the 
source of all his classical erudition ; but it falls far short of 
furnishing a satisfactory explanation of the matter, in our 
day, and in the face of numerous instances to the contrary, 
scarcely less decisive than this one, that the " Timon of 
Athens " turns out to have been founded in great part upon 
the untranslated Greek of Lucian ; 3 besides that it is now 
clear enough to the attentive scholar, that this author drew 
materials, ideas, and even expressions, from the tragedies 
of Sophocles and Euripides, and even from Plato, no less 
than from the Latin of Ovid, Virgil, Horace, Seneca, and 
Tacitus, not to mention numerous others of the ancient 

1 Johnson's Preface. 

2 Pope's Preface. 

3 Knight's Stud, of Shales. , 71; Luc. Opera (ed. Dindorf, Lipsiae, 1858), I, 
30-51. 



HIS LEARNING. 11 

classics, and apparently with the utmost indifference to the 
question whether they had ever been translated into Eng- 
lish or not. 

Indeed, his learning took the widest range. Mr. Collier, 
profoundly impressed by a certain frequency of legal terms 
and expressions in the plays, is ready, thereupon, to add an 
entire new passage to the known biography of William 
Shakespeare, to the effect that, in his youth, he had studied 
law in the office of an attorney, or, at least, a bailiff, at 
Stratford ; and the learned essay of Lord Chief Justice 
Campbell, 1 addressed to him upon the subject, comes to 
this conclusion upon Shakespeare's juridical phrases and 
forensic allusions: " On the retrospect I am amazed," says 
his Lordship, " not only by their number, but by the accu- 
racy and propriety with which they are uniformly intro- 
duced." And he adds : " There is nothing so dangerous as 
for one not of the craft to tamper with our freemasonry." 
He thought we might be "justified in believing the fact 
that he was a clerk in an attorney's office at Stratford with- 
out any direct proof of the fact," mainly relying, with Mr. 
Collier, upon " the seemingly utter impossibility of Shake- 
speare having acquired, on any other theory, the wonderful 
knowledge of law which he undoubtedly displays." Never- 
theless, his Lordship was constrained to warn his friend, 
that he had not "really become an absolute convert" to his 
side of the question ; nor did he fail to remark, that the 
theory required us " implicitly to believe a fact, which, were 
it true, positive and irrefragable evidence, in Shakespeare's 
own handwriting " in the records of the courts, or in deeds 
and wills written or witnessed by him, and preserved in the 
archives at Stratford-on- Avon, might have been forthcom- 
ing to establish it ; but, " after diligent search," none such 
had been, or could be, discovered. 

The argument might justify, but does not require, an 
examination here into the special learning of this author in 

1 Shakespeare's Legal Acquirements (N. York, 1859), p. 132. 



12 HIS LEARNING. 

matters of law, or medicine. This work has already been 
so far accomplished by distinguished members of these pro- 
fessions as to convince them, if not the critical world, that 
he had a very wonderful acquaintance with both. Let it 
suffice to notice a single instance (cited by Lord Camp- 
bell a ) of his familiarity with Plowden, whose preface was 
dated from the Middle Temple, in 1578, the sanie year in 
which William Shakespeare is said to have been taken 
from school by his father, at the age of fourteen. The dis- 
cussion of the grave-diggers in the " Hamlet," as to whether 
the drowned Ophelia was entitled to Christian burial, 
" proves," says his Lordship, " that Shakespeare [he meant, 
of course, the author of the play] had read and studied 
Plowden's Report of the celebrated case of Hales v. Petit. 2 
Sir James Hales, a Judge of the Common Pleas, having 
been imprisoned for being concerned in the plot to place 
Lady Jane Grey upon the throne, and afterwards pardoned, 
was so affected in mind as to commit suicide by drowning 
himself in a river. The coroner's inquest found a verdict 
of felo de se, under which his body was to be buried at a 
cross-road, with a stake thrust through it, and his goods 
and estates were forfeited to the crown. • A knotty ques- 
tion arose upon the suit of his widow for an estate by sur- 
vivorship in joint-tenancy, whether the forfeiture could be 
considered as having taken place in the lifetime of Sir 
James Hales ; for, if it did not, she took the estate by sur- 
vivorship. 

Sergeant Southcote argued for the lady, that as long as 
he was alive he had not killed himself, and the moment 
that he died, the estate vested in the plaintiff. " The felony 
of the husband shall not take away her title by survivor- 
ship, for in this manner of felony two things are to be con- 
sidered : First, the cause of the death ; secondly, the death 
ensuing the cause; and these two make the felony, and 
without both of them the felony is not consummate. And 
1 Shakes. Leg. Acq., p. 104. 2 Plowden's Rep., 256-9. 



HIS LEARNING. IS 

the cause of the death is the act done in the party's life- 
time, which makes the death to follow. And the act which 
brought on the death here was the throwing himself volun- 
tarily into the water, for this was the cause of his death. 
And if a man kills himself by a wound which he gives 
himself with a knife, or if lie hangs himself as the icound or 
the hanging, which is the act done in the party's lifetime, is 
the cause of his death, so is the throwing himself into the 
water here. Forasmuch as he cannot be attainted of his 
own death, because he is dead before there is any time to 
attaint him, the finding of his death by the coroner is by 
necessity of law equivalent to an attainder in fact coming 
after his death. He cannot be felo de se till the death is 
fully consummate, and the death precedes the felony and 
the forfeiture." 

Sergeant Walsh, on the other side, argued that the for- 
feiture had relation to the act done in the party's lifetime, 
which was the cause of his death. "Upon this the parts 
of the act are to be considered ; and the act consists of three 
'parts. The first is the imagination, which is a reflection or 
meditation of the mind, whether or no it is convenient for 
him to destroy himself, and what way it can be done. The 
second is the resolution, which is a determination of the 
mind to destroy himself, and to do it in this or that partic- 
ular way. The third is the perfection, which is the execu- 
tion of what the mind has resolved to do. And this per- 
fection consists of two parts, viz., the beginning and the 
end. The beginning is the doing of the act which causes 
the death ; and the end is the death, which is only a sequel 
to the act. And of all the parts the doing of the act is the 
greatest in the judgment of our law, and it is in effect the 
whole. The doing of the act is the only point which the law 
regards ; for until the act is done it cannot be an offence 
to the world, and when the act is done it is punishable. 
Inasmuch as the person who did the act is dead, his person 
cannot be punished, and therefore there is no way else to 



14 HIS LEARNING. 

punish him but by the forfeiture of those things which were 
his own at the time of his death." 

Bendloe cited a case in which " a lunatic wounded him- 
self mortally with a knife, and afterwards became of sound 
mind, and had the rights of Holy Church, and after died of 
the said wound, and his chattels were not forfeited ; " and 
Carus cited another, " where it appears that one who had 
taken sanctuary in a church was out in the night, and the 
town pursued him, and the felon defended himself with 
clubs and stones, and would not render himself to the 
King's peace, and one struck off his head ; and the goods 
of the person killed were forfeited, for he could not be 
arraigned, because he was hilled by his own fault, for which 
reason, upon the truth of the matter found, his goods were 
forfeited. Here, the inquiry before the coroner super visum 

corporis, is equivalent to a judgment given against 

him in his lifetime, and the forfeiture has relation to the 
act which was the cause of his death, viz. the throwing him- 
self into the water." . 

Dyer, C. J., giving the opinion of the Court, said : — 
" The forfeiture shall have relation to the act done by Sir 
James Hales in his lifetime, which was the cause of his 
death, viz. the throwing himself into the water." He made 
five points : — - " First, the quality of the offence ; secondly, 
to whom the offence was committed ; thirdly, what he shall 
forfeit ; fourthly, from what time ; and fifthly, if the term 

here shall be taken from the wife." As to the second 

point, it is an offence against nature, against God, and 
against the King. Against nature, for every living thing 
does by instinct of nature defend itself from destruction, and 
then to destroy one's self is contrary to nature, and a thing 
most horrible. Against God, in that it is a breach of his 
commandment, thou shalt not kill ; and to kill himself, by 
which he kills in presumption his own soul, is a greater 
offence than to kill another. Against the King, in that 
hereby he has lost a subject, and (as Brown termed it) he 



HIS LEARNING. 15 

being the head, has lost one of his mystical members." 

... It was agreed by all the Judges, "that he shall 

forfeit all his goods ; for Brown said the reason why the 

King shall have the goods and chattels of a felo de se, 

is not because he is out of Holy Church, so that 

for that reason the Bishop will not meddle with them, 
. . . but for the loss of his subject, and for the breach 
of his peace, and for the evil example given to his people, 
and not in respect that Holy Church will not meddle with 
them, for he is adjudged none of the members of Holy 
Church" 

"As to the fourth point, viz., to what time the forfeiture 
shall have relation ; the forfeiture here shall have relation 
to the time of the original offence committed, which was 
the cause of the death, and that was the throwing himself 
into the water, which was done in his lifetime, and this 

act was felony So that the felony is attributed to 

the act, which is always done by a living man, and in his 
lifetime : for Sir James Hales was dead, and how came he 
to his death ? By drowning. And who drowned him ? 
Sir James Hales. And when did he drown him ? In his 
lifetime. So that Sir James Hales being alive caused Sir 
James Hales to die ; and the act of the living man w T as the 
death of the dead man. But how can he be said to be 
punished alive when the punishment comes after his death ? 
Sir, this can be done no other ivay than by devesting out 
of him his title and property, from the time of the act done 
which was the cause of his death, viz. the throwing himself 
into the water." 

Now, that this very report is plainly travestied in the 
" Hamlet," can admit of no possible doubt. Ophelia had 
not drowned herself voluntarily, but, like the lunatic who 
became of sound mind, and had " the rights of Holy 
Church," to the glassy stream, where " a willow grows 
aslant the brook," 

" There, with fantastic garlands, did she come," 



16 HIS LEARNING 

and 

" There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, 
When down her weedy trophies and herself 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, 
And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up; 
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or like a creature native and indu'd 
Unto that element: but long it could not be, 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death." — Act IV. Sc. 7. 

Otherwise, as the author well knew, the Coroner's inquest 
would have found her a "felo de se" and she must have 
been buried, as one " out of Holy Church," at a cross-road, 
where, says the Priest, — 

" Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd 
As we have warrantise : her death was doubtful ; 
And but that great command o'ersways the order, 
She should in ground un sanctified have lodg'd, 
Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers, 
Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her; 
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites, 
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial."— Act V. Sc. 1. 

And in the same scene in which, with all technical skill in 
the use of the abstrusest terms of the law, he so easily emp- 
ties " the skull of a lawyer " of " his quiddits now, his quil- 
lets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks," his 

action of battery, his statutes, his recognizances, 

his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries," now that 
" the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries " 
is, " to have his fine pate full of fine dirt," he makes the 
clowns discourse, on the question of the voluntary drown- 
ing and the right to Christian burial, thus : — 

" 1st Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that wilfully seeks her 
own salvation? 

2c? Clo. I tell thee, she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the 
erowner hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial. 



HIS LEARNING. 17 

1st Clo. How can that be, unless she drown 1 d herself in her own de- 
fence f 

2d Clo. Why, H is found so. 

1st Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the 
point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act. and an act hath three 
branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : argal, she drowned herself wit- 
tingly. 

2d Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 

1st Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the . 
man; good: if the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, 
nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown 
him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death 
shortens not his own life. 

2d Clo. But is this law? 

1st Clo. Ay, marry, is't; crowner's 'quest law. 

2d Clo. Will you ha' the truth on >tf If this had not been a gentle- 
woman, she should have been buried out of Christian burial. 

1st Clo. Why, there thou say'st, and the more pity, that great folk shall 
have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than 
their even Christian." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

A careful comparison of these passages may satisfy the 
critical reader that the author of the play had certainly 
read this report of Plowden. They are not adduced here 
as amounting to proof that the author was any other than 
William Shakespeare, but rather as a circumstance bearing 
upon the antecedent probabilities of the case ; for there is 
not the slightest ground for a belief, on the facts which we 
know, that Shakespeare ever looked into Plowden's Re- 
ports ; while it is quite certain that Francis Bacon, who 
commenced his legal studies at Gray's Inn in the very next 
year after the date of Plowden's preface, did have occasion 
to make himself familiar with that work, some years before 
the appearance of the " Hamlet." And the mode of rea- 
soning, and the manner of the report, bordering so nearly 
upon the ludicrous, would be sure to impress the memory 
of Bacon, whose nature, as we know, was singularly capable 
of wit and humor. 

Not less curious is it to observe, that Mr. Hackett, as 
early as 1859, noticing the numerous metaphorical expres- 

2 



^r 



18 HIS LEARNING. 

sions in the plays, which relate to the flowing of the blood 
to and from the heart or liver, and which imply, when 
closely examined, a critical knowledge of the physiology of 
this subject, as understood by professional authors down to 
that day, has actually maintained the proposition that Wil- 
liam Shakespeare had anticipated the celebrated Harvey 
in the discovery of the circulation of the blood. 1 And not 
much later, a distinguished English physician, following the 
example of Lord Campbell in the department of law 7 , has 
undertaken to demonstrate that " the immortal dramatist," 
though he had not discovered the circulation of the blood, 
had nevertheless " paid an amount of attention to subjects 
of medical interest scarcely if at all inferior to that which 
has served as the basis of the learned and ingenious aro-u- 
ment, that this intellectual king of men had devoted seven 
good years of his life to the practice of law." 2 Moreover, 
this same writer, on diligent examination, was " surprised 
and astonished " at " the extent and exactness of the psy- 
chological knowledge displayed " in these plays, and very 
naturally came to the conclusion that " abnormal conditions 
of mind had attracted Shakespeare's diligent observation, 
and had been his favorite study." 3 He finds instances 
which amount " not merely to evidence, but to proof, that 
Shakespeare had read widely in medical literature," and 
continues thus : — " For the honor of medicine, it would 
be difficult to point to any great author, not himself a 
physician, in whose works the healing art is referred to 
more frequently and more respectfully than in those of 
Shakespeare." Dr. Bucknill even ventures to suggest 
that the marriage of Shakespeare's eldest daughter, in 1607, 
with Dr. John Hall, the physician, who afterwards lived in 
the same house with him at Stratford-on-Avon, may have 
been the means of imparting to the mind of the poet some 

1 Notes on Shakes. Plays and Actors (New York, 1863), p. 268. 

2 Shakes. Med. Knowl., by John Charles Bucknill, M. D., London, 1860. 

8 Psychology of Shakes., by John Charles Bucknill, M. D.. London, 1859. 



HIS LEARNING. 19 

degree of medical knowledge. But, unfortunately for this 
theory, nearly all the plays from which the most striking 
passages concerning the flow of the blood have been cited, 
were written prior to that date, and some of them long be- 
fore. Mr. Hackett seems to think there may have been 
some intimacy between the poet and the doctor, " long 
previous to the marriage," and so, that Shakespeare " may 
have made himself acquainted with every important fact- 
or theory which had transpired in relation to the subject." 
This is indeed possible ; but it would be a more satisfactory 
explanation of this very special feature in the plays, if it 
did not require us to carry back his medical studies, at 
least, to the date of the " King John," and almost make 
them encroach upon those seven good years already de- 
manded for the study of law, especially in the absence of 
any positive evidence in his personal history that he had 
ever looked into a book of law or medicine. 

But Dr. Bucknill, as well as the American physician 
who controverted the views of Mr. Hackett, more thor- 
oughly versed in medical science, has successfully made it 
appear, not merely that the Shakespearian expressions do 
not imply a knowledge of the circulation of the blood, in 
the sense of Harvey, but that they are, in truth, in very 
exact accordance with the doctrines of Galen, Hippocrates, 
Rabelais, and others, who were, prior to Harvey, " the 
learned and authentic fellows" in this branch of knowl- 
edge, and with whose writings, as we certainly know, Sir 
Francis Bacon was quite familiar, for he cites and reviews 
these very authors, together with Aristotle, Celsus, Porta. 
Cardan, Fabricius, Servetus, Telesius, Paracelsus, and 
many more : — 

" Parolles. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot oit 
in our laMer times. 
Bertram. And so 'tis. 

Lafleur. To be relinquished of the artists, 

Parolles. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
Lajteur. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 
Parolles. Right, so I say." — All 's Well, Act II. Sc. 3. 



20 HIS LEARNING. 

Harvey's discovery, though supposed to have been made 
known at the College of Physicians as early as 1615, was 
first publicly announced in his published work on the sub- 
ject, in 1G19, three years after the death of Shakespeare. 
The plays from which Mr. Hackett cites his evidences were 
all written before 1010, and most of them several years 
earlier. It is quite possible that Bacon, however, may have 
heard something of Harvey's discovery, or even seen his 
book, before the publication of the Folio of 1623. So 
remarkable a fact should have awakened a profound inter- 
est in a mind like his ; but there is no intimation in any of 
his writings that he was at all acquainted with this discov- 
ery. Nor is it probable that any author would have occa- 
sion to alter and adapt his poetical metaphors to the scien- 
tific niceties of the latest announcement. 

Prior to Harvey, and as early as 1553, Michael Servetus 
of Geneva had discovered the flow of the blood from the 
right, side of the heart, through valves opening towards the 
lungs, and from thence, through the pulmonary vein, to the 
left ventricle, whence he supposed it was diffused through 
the whole body ; and Fabricius of Padua had discovered 
the valves in the veins opening towards the heart. Harvey 
was his pupil, about the year 1 600, and from him learned 
the fact which first suggested the idea of the general circu- 
lation. 1 The most suggestive passage of all those cited 
from Shakespeare, in proof that he was in possession of the 
same idea, is that in which the ghost in " Hamlet " is made 
to say of " the blood of man," — 

" That swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body ' ' ; 

and this appears in the first printed editions of the u Ham- 
let" (1603 and 1604), that of 1603 reading "posteth" 
instead of " courses " ; but in the language and thought of 
all these passages, striking resemblances to the ideas, style, 
and diction of Sir Francis Bacon may be distinctly noted, 
as in these examples : - — 

1 Craik's Eng. LiL, II. 149. 



HIS LEARNING. 21 

" make thick my blood, 

Stop up the access and passage to remorse." 

Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 5. 

u ^\ ny does my blood thus muster to my heart, 
Making both it unable for itself, 
And dispossessing all my other parts 
Of necessary fitness? " 

Measure for Measure, Act II. Sc. 4. 

" The tide of blood in me 
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now: 
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea, 
"W nere it shall mingle with the state of floods, 
And flow henceforth in formal majesty." 

2 Henry IV.. Act V. Sc. 2. 

" Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick. 
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins'." 

King John, Act III. Sc. 3. 

u my heart, . . . 

The fountain from the which my current runs, 
Or else dries up."— Othello, Act IV. Sc. 2. 

Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine." 

Much Ado About Nothing, Act IV. Sc. 1, 

" The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp*d; the very source of it is stopp'd." 

Macbeth, Act II. Sc. 1. 

" Lord Angelo is precise : 
Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 

That his blood flows." — 

,; a man whose blood 

Is a very snow-broth." 

Measure for Measure. Act I. Sc. 4, 5. 

" Runs not this speech like iron through your blood? " 

Much Ado, Act V. Sc. 1. 

" I send it through the rivers of your blood, 
Even to the court, the heart, to th" seat o' th" brain; 
And through the cranks and offices of man, 
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
From me receive that natural competency 
Whereby they live." — Coriolanus, Act I. Sc. 1. 

" The second property of your excellent sherris is. the warming of the 
blood: which, be 'ore cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, . . 
but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts 



22 HIS LEARNING. 

extreme .... — and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits 
muster me all to their captain, the heart." — 2 Henry 1 V., Act 1 V. Sc. 3. 

Now, the spring-head, the fountain, and the ebb and flow 
of the sea, are frequent sources of metaphor, both with 
Bacon and the plays ; as, for instance, this from a letter to 
the king: "Let your Majesty's grace, in this my desire, 
stream down upon me, and let it be out of the fountain and 
spring-head, and ' ex mero mota, 9 that, living or dying, the 
print of the goodness of King James may be in my 
heart." 1 In the " Advancement " (1605), we have the 
results of Bacon's general survey of the state of medical 
learning down to his own time, in which he says of the 
anatomists, that u they inquire not of the diversities of the 
parts, the secrecies of the passages, and the seats or nest- 
lings of the humours, nor much of the footsteps and 
impressions of diseases." So, Shakespeare seems to con- 
sider the heart as a seat, or court, into which the blood 
musters, or nestles, as it courses up and down, through the 
secret accesses and passages, through " the cranks and 
offices of man," — 

" The natural gates and alleys of the body." 

" As to the diversity of parts," he continues, " there is no 
doubt but the facture or framing of the inward parts is as 
full of differences as the outward ; . . As for the pas- 
sages and pores, it is true, which was anciently noted, that 
the more subtle of them appear not in anatomies, because 
they are short and latent in dead bodies, though they be 
open and manifest in live ; which being supposed, though 
the inhumanity of i anatomia vivorum ' was by Celsus justly 
reproved, yet in regard of the great use of this observa- 
tion, the inquiry needed not by him so slightly to have been 
relinquished altogether " : 2 

"Lnf. To be relinquished of the artists — 
Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus." 

1 Letter of July 30, 1624, WorJcs (Philad.) III. 24. 

2 Adv. of Learn., Works (Philad.) I. 204-5. 



HIS LEARNING. 23 

So he writes : " I ever liked the Galenists, that deal with 
good compositions, and not the Paracelsians, that deal with 
these fine separations." 1 Again, he says : " In preparation 
of medicines, I do find strange, especially considering how 
mineral medicines have been extolled, and that they are 
safer for the outward than inward parts, that no man hath 
sought to make an imitation by art of natural baths and 
medicinable fountains"; and again, u while the life-blood 
of Spain went inward to the heart, the outward limbs and 
members trembled and could not resist." 2 The play says : — 

" Death, having pre}^ed upon the outward parts, 
Leaves them insensible." 

Here we have the same general and vague notions as to 
the structure of these inward and extreme parts, with a 
kind of repetition of the favorite words in the " natural 
baths," " mineral medicines," and " medicinable foun- 
tains " ; which may also call to mind these lines from the 
"Othello": — 

" the thought whereof 

Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards." 

Othello, Act II. Sc. 1. 

" Blood is stanched," he says again, " by drawing of the 
spirits and blood inwards ; which is done by cold ; as iron 
or a stone laid upon the neck doth stanch the bleeding of 
the nose." So, according to Falstaff, " the cold blood * 
of Prince Harry, which "he did naturally inherit of his 
father," was, by " drinking good, and good store of fertile 
sherris," become " very hot and valiant." 

He speaks also of " the sudden recess of the spirits," 
and of " the recess of the blood by sympathy," and says, 
that " there is a fifth way also in use, to let blood in an 
adverse part for a revulsion." 3 This goes upon the idea 
of a flowing outward and a receding inward of the blood, 

1 Letter to Cecil, Spedding's Let awl Life, I. 356. 

2 Speech, Spedding's Let. and Life, II. 89. 

3 Nat. Hist., § 66. 



24 HIS LEAKNING. 

a sort of u tickling up and down the veins " ; and it is 
in exact keeping with Falstaff's notion of the effect of 
" sherris," that " warms the blood, which, before cold and 
settled, left the liver white and pale," as well as with the 
blood of Lord Angelo, which was " a very snow-broth." 
And here, also, in the iron laid upon the neck, that singu- 
lar simile of a speech running " like iron through your 
blood," may find an explanation of its origin. 

He continues : " But the cause is, for that all those diets 
do dry up humours, rheums, and the like : and they cannot 
dry up until they have first attenuated ; and while the hu- 
mour is attenuated, it is more fluid than it was before, and 
troubleth the body a great deal more until it be dried up 
and consumed." Here, we have a similar physiological idea 
as in the case of — 

" The fountain from which my current runs, 
Or else dries up; " — 

and probably, also, the source of the expression, — 

" Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine." 

Dr. Bucknill assures us that " Shakespeare follows Hippo- 
crates," and that he refers to a theory of that author, " that 
the veins, which were thought the only blood-vessels, had 
their origin in the liver. The Father of Medicine main- 
tained that they came from the liver, the arteries from the 
heart " ; and he adds, that " Rabelais expresses the doctrine 
of the function of the liver which is implied in Falstaff's 
disquisition," namely, " that the liver conveys blood through 
the veins for the good of the whole body." He cites further 
in support of his views these lines from the " Merchant of 
Venice " : — 

" and let my liver rather heat with wine, 

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans." 

His conclusion is, that Shakespeare believed, indeed, in the 
flow of the blood, " the rivers of your blood," which went 
even " to the court, the heart " ; but he considered that it 
was the liver, and not the heart, which was the cause of 



HIS LEARNING. 25 

the flow" ; but he does not find in Shakespeare " a trace of 
any knowledge of the circulation of the blood," in the sense 
of Harvey. 1 

Now, as to whether or not William Shakespeare ever 
read these authors, we have not the least information ; but 
we certainly know that Francis Bacon made apothegms 
out of this same Rabelais, and that he had studied Hippo- 
crates, 2 " the Father of the Art," as w T ell as Galen, Para- 
celsus, and the rest. And he concludes a letter addressed 
to the Scottish physician, Dr. Morison, in 1603, on the 
coming in of King James, in these words : " So not doubt- 
ing to see you here with his Majesty, considering that it 
belongeth to your art to feel pulses, and I assure you Galen 
doth not set down greater variety of pulses than do vent 
here in men's hearts" ; 3 and the mind of the author of the 
" Romeo and Juliet" (1595) must have been running upon 
the very subject of these investigations : — 

" through all thy veins shall run 

A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize 
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep 
His natural progress, but surcease to beat." 

Act IV. Sc. 1. 

And it may very well be taken here as one of those 
numerous and singular coincidences of thought and expres- 
sion, which everywhere drop out in the works of Bacon 
and Shakespeare, and especially in those which were writ- 
ten at about the same date and upon kindred subjects, that 
the phrase applied to Celsus, " the inquiry needed not by him 
so slightly to have been relinquished altogether" should reap- 
pear in his review of the labors of these same learned 
authors, and before that " rarest argument of wonder," 
which, in the play (written prior to 1594), was li to be relin- 
quished of the artists, both of Galen and Paracel- 
sus" and " all the learned and authentic felloivs" had as yet 
entirely passed out of his memory. Nor need there be any 

1 Hackett's Notes, 292. 2 Adv. of Learn. 

3 Letter, Works (Philad.) III. 197. 



26 HIS LEARNING. 

wonder that the ideas, expressions, words, metaphors, and 
technical learning of the two writings, in medicine as in 
law, and in many other branches of learning besides, 
should be so exactly alike, if we once conceive (what will be 
further demonstrated) that Francis Bacon was the author 
of both. 

The German critic, Schlegel, equally amazed at the ex- 
tent of the knowledge and the depth of the philosophy of 
these plays of Shakespeare, the author of which he could 
not but consider as one who had mastered " all the things 
and relations of this world," does not hesitate to declare the 
received account of his life to be " a mere fabulous story, a 
blind and extravagant error " : * this Shakespeare must have 
been another sort of man from what we know him. The 
Germans seem to have been the first to discover and appre- 
ciate the full depth of his philosophy, not excepting Ger- 
vinus, who appears to have had less difficulty about the 
author himself. That a single passage, which had never 
attracted the particular attention of an English critic, other- 
wise than as a brilliant figure of speech, should be capable 
of creating whole books in the soul of Jean Paul Richter, 
is, perhaps, not much to be wondered at ; especially, if we 
consider that he, to whose great learning, deep philosophy, 
and divine vision, this universe became crystalline and 
transparent, did not fail to see that no one had " better 
pursued and illumined the actual truth of things, even into 
the deepest vales and the little worms therein, than those 
twin-stars of poesy, Homer and Shakespeare." 2 

Indeed, the bare proposition, that this man, on his arri- 
val in London, at the age of twenty-three, with only such a 
history as we possess of his previous life, education, studies, 
and pursuits, could have begun almost immediately to pro- 
duce the matchless works which we know by his name, not 

1 Lectures on Dram. Lit., by A. W. Schlegel, Tr. by John Black, (Philad. 
1833,) p. 289. 

2 Vorschule der JEsthetik, WerJce. I. 25. 



HIS LEARNING. 27 

merely the most masterly works of art, and as such in the 
opinion of eminent critics, surpassing the Greek tragedy 
itself, but classical poems, and plays the most .profoundly 
philosophical in the English language, or any other (for no 
less a critic than Goethe has awarded this high praise), may 
justly strike us in the outset as simply preposterous and 
absurd. " What ! " exclaims Coleridge, at this consequence 
of the traditional biography, " are we to have miracles in 

sport ? Does God choose idiots by w T hom to convey 

divine truths to man ? " x Emerson, no less, considering 
that the Shakespeare Society had ascertained that this 
William Shakespeare was " a good-natured sort of man, a 
jovial actor, manager, and shareholder, not in any striking 
manner distinguished from other actors and managers," 
and that he was * ; a veritable farmer " withal, engaged in all 
sorts of traffic at Stratford, doing business commissions in 
London, and suing Philip Rogers for malt delivered, while 
writing a " Hamlet/' or a " Lear," is apparently obliged to 
lay down the problem in despair, with this significant con- 
fession : " I cannot marry this fact to his verse. Other 
admirable men have led lives in some sort of keeping with 
their thought ; but this man, in wide contrast." 2 In like 
manner, Jean Paul Richter " would have him buried, if his 
life were like his writings, with Pythagoras, Plato, Socrates, 
and the highest nobility of the human race, in the same 
best consecrated earth of our globe, God's flower-garden in 
the deep North." 3 Indeed, considering how this man 
should drop the theatre as an idle pastime, or as a trade 
that had filled his coffers, and should quietly sit him down 
for the remainder of life merely to talk and jest with the 
Stratford burghers, and, turning over his w r orks to the 
spoiling hand of blundering printers and surreptitious 
traffic, regardless of his own reputation, heedless of the 
world around him, leaving his manuscripts to perish, taking 

i Notes on Shakes., Works, IV. 56. 2 Rep. Men, 215. 

8 Werke, I. 241. 



28 HIS STUDIES. 

no thought of foreign nations, or the next ages, or as if not 
deeming he had written anything worthy of preservation, 
should " steal in silence to his grave," 1 beneath a doggerel 
epitaph reputed to have been written by himself, and cer- 
tainly suitable enough for his u bones," by the side of which 
the knowing friends who erected a monument over him 
caused to be inscribed a Latin memento, which might 
indeed do honor to the memory of the " Star of Poets " : — 

" Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, 
Terra tegit, populus mceret, Olympus habet ' 1 ; — 

any man might wonder, if he did not laugh outright, to see 
this Son of Momus wearing thus his lion's skin even in his 
tomb. Carlyle, that other master-critic of our time, chew- 
ing the cud of this " careless mortal, open to the Universe 
and its influences, not caring strenuously to open himself; 
who, Prometheus-like, will scale Heaven (if it so must be), 
and is satisfied if he therewith pay the rent of his London 
Play-house," as it were, with the imperturbability of Teu- 
felsdroch himself, simply breaks out, at last, with this brief 
*u exclamation : " An unparalleled mortal." 



1 2 



§ 5. HIS STUDIES. 

There is no evidence on record other than that which is 
drawn from the works themselves, that during his connec- 
tion with the theatre in London, he was given to profound 
studies or much reading; and it is evident that no man in 
his circumstances, conditions, and daily occupations, could 
have found time, means, and facilities, not merely for sup- 
plying the known deficiencies of his previous education, but 
to make extensive and thorough acquisitions in all depart- 
ments of human knowledge, and, at the same time, to carry 
on the work of inventing and writing these extraordinary 
\ compositions. If it were to be admitted that he was in fact 
the author of them, then of course, all the rest should be 

1 Mem. of the Court of James /., by Lucy Aiken. 

2 Essays (Boston, 1861), III. 211. 



HIS STUDIES. 29 

presumed, however miraculous and inconceivable. There 
are no certain proofs that he enjoyed the intimacy of liter- 
ary associates beyond the purlieus of the theatre and cer- 
tain small writers for the stage, Ben Jonson only excepted. 
Some of his earlier contemporaries, like Greene, made en- 
vious attacks upon him, significantly hinting at the incon- 
gruity between him and his supposed productions ; though 
numerous other writers and poets of later dates, following 
the general report, unquestionably recognized him as the 
admitted author of the works which were attributed to him. 
He certainly had the acquaintance and friendship of Ben 
Jonson, who was famous among the literary men of his 
time, received the countenance of the Court, and enjoyed 
the intimacy and favor of high literary characters, and par- 
ticularly of Lord Bacon, in whose service he was engaged 
for some years. Ben Jonson did not fail to discover " the 
Star of Poets " in these works ; but his description of the 
person, qualities, genius, and individual characteristics of 
William Shakespeare, not to speak of his criticisms upon 
him and the players, do not help to remove the manifest 
contradiction that exists between the man and the works. 
The traditions of his having been a member of Ealeigh's 
Club, and his wit-combats at the " Mermaid M (some books 
say " wet-combats ") with Ben Jonson and the assembled 
wits, will not bear the test of critical examination: they 
rest, at last, on mere inference from the supposed relations, 
character, and genius of such an author, and are as baseless 
in reality as the conceit of worthy old Fuller, proceeding 
upon the indubitable fact that " his learning was very little/'' 
and the old saw, " Poeta non jit sed nascitur" that " as Cor- 
nish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are 
pointed and smoothed even as they are taken out of the 
earth, so Xature itself was all the art that was used upon 
him." * It was a shrewd conjecture of Dr. Maginn, that 
the reason why we know so little of him is, that " when his 

" i Worthies of England, III. 281. 



30 HIS STUDIES. 

business was over at the theatre, he did not mix with his 
fellow-actors, but stepped into his boat, and rowed up to 
Whitehall, there to spend his time with the Earl of South- 
ampton and the gentlemen about the Court." * There may 
be some truth in this suggestion ; but it will be necessary 
also to suppose an invisible boat and a further passage to 
Gray's Inn. 

If these plays had not begun to appear for a period of 
ten years or so after William Shakespeare came to London, 
it might be possible to imagine, that, even in his employ- 
ments, he might have found time and means to prosecute 
to some extent those studies which every reasonable mind 
must acknowledge to have been absolutely necessary in 
order to fit the most luminous natural genius for the writ- 
ing of these dramas. But there was no such period : the"" 
plays began to appear at least as early as the year 1588, 
even if it be not satisfactorily proved, that the first sketches 
of several of them had been upon the stage for some years 
previous to that date, and before Shakespeare arrived in 
London. There were six years after this event in which 
the two principal poems may have been written, and before 
he was twenty-nine years of age. Doubtless, many poems 
of great merit have been produced at an earlier age than 
this : nothing need be objected on the score of age merely. 
Nor would it be anything remarkable that an actor should 
correct and amend, or even write or rewrite plays. Heming, 
or Condell, may have done as much as this. In fact, some 
plays were written by other actors and members of this 
same company ; but they appear to have been no better 
than such authors might reasonably be expected to pro- 
duce, and they speedily passed into oblivion. It might be 
admitted that William Shakespeare may have altered, 
amended, or rewritten, old plays to adapt them to his stage, 
without danger to the question of this authorship. The 
greater plays, it is true, were not produced until more than 
i Shakes. Papers (New York, 1856), p. 10. 



EARLY PLAYS. 31 

ten years had elapsed. Of course, any author should be 
expected to grow in this time ; but there is exhibited, in the 
character and succession of these works, an order of growth 
quite other than any that can be ascribed to a mortal man 
with the personal history which must be assigned to William 
Shakespeare ; ascending, as it does, from the very gates 
of the university, upward and upward, into the highest 
spheres of human thought and culture. 

§ 6. EARLY PLAYS. 

Critical researches have demonstrated that this author 
gathered his materials from any quarry that was at hand, 
suitable to his purposes. Old ballads, poems, plays, novels, 
tales, histories, in English, French. Italian, Latin, or Greek, 
translated or untranslated, were made to yield their treas- 
ures of fact and fable. There had been an old play of 
" King John " in the reign of Edward VI. Some critics think 
that the " Troublesome Reign of King John." printed in 
15&L, and written in two parts, was an early work of this 
author, and the foundation of the " King John *' of the Folio 
of 1 623 ; but later writers, no doubt correctly, have attrib- 
uted it to Marlowe, Greene, or Peele. or some other poet, 
though it was reprinted in 1611, and in 1622. with the ini- 
tials •• AY. Sh." on the title-page ; doubtless a trick of the 
booksellers to make it sell. The " King John " of Shake- 
speare is first mentioned by Meres in 1598 ; it was first 
printed in the Folio ; and, in the absence of any other data 
than the style and manner of the composition, on which 
to fix the date of its production. Mr. White places it in 
the year 1596. while admitting that the author must have 
had the older play before him. or in his head, when this 
was written, 1 and that the date of it may go back to 1591. 
The old play called the •• Famous Victories of Henry the 
Fifth," which was acted on the stage prior to 1588. after 
having undergone a marvellous transformation, seems tc 
i White's Shakes., VI. 15. 



32 EARLY PLAYS. 

have grown into the two parts of the " Henry IV. " and the 
" Henry V." * The second and third parts of the " Henry 
VI." were first known by wholly different titles, and, accord- 
ing to Malone, before Shakespeare appeared in London, and 
certainly as early as 1587-8. These also have been attrib- 
uted by some critics to Marlowe, and by Mr. White to Mar- 
lowe, Greene, and Peele, in conjunction with Shakespeare ; 2 
and the first part of the " Henry VI.," never printed until it 
appeared in the Folio, the " Taming of the Shrew," and the 
" Titus Anclronicus," have been placed in the same cate- 
gory by him, though beyond question they will have to be 
assigned to this author ; and Malone believed them all to 
have been upon the stage at an earlier date than 1587. Mr. 
White concludes, however, that Shakespeare, in his subse- 
quent revisions of these joint works, merely reclaimed his 
own. That the rejected passages were inferior to the parts 
retained, or rewritten, and not above the powers of Mar- 
lowe, Greene, or Peele, may safely enough be admitted ; 
nor should it be at all surprising that these earliest efforts 
of a young author should be found to be somewhat inferior 
to his later works. The use in them of a single idiom 
which was then growing obsolete, and which more fre- 
quently occurs in Greene than in any of his contemporaries, 
but which was not often used, or was carefully eliminated 
by this author, together with some near equality of weight, 
rhythm, and style, may be allowed to have some considera- 
tion ; but this same idiom, on which so much stress is laid 
as an ear-mark of Greene, is found, five times, within 
twenty lines of one of Bacon's translations of the Psalms, 3 
and occasionally, though not often, in the plays, as thus : — 

" You may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon " ; — 

Winter's Tale, Act I. Sc. 2. 

1 Knight's Studies of Shakes. 

2 Essay on the " Henry VI.," White's Shakes., VII. 
8 Psalm civ. 



EARLY PLAYS. 33 

and the whole argument would seem to be a weak founda- 
tion for so large a theory; especially, if these plays be con- 
sidered as the first attempt of a young writer, and produced 
probably somewhere between 1582 and 1589. Mr. White 
believes that men have been hung on less evidence than 
that which he produces. It is indeed very formidable ; 
and it might carry the jury in the absence of better testi- 
mony ; it is nevertheless quite certain that men have been 
hung on proofs that seemed equally clear, who afterwards 
turned out to be innocent. 

The " Timon of Athens " has been supposed to have 
been founded, in some part, upon an older play of that 
name ; but the old play of " Timon," in manuscript, and 
apparently written by " a scholar," which was thought by 
Steevens to have been transcribed about the year 1600, 
and which came into the hands of Mr. Dyce, according to 
the opinion of Mr. Knight and other critics, was evidently 
never written by Shakespeare at all. Even in the face of 
facts like these, Malone could not persuade himself that 
Shakespeare could have begun to write before the year 
1590 ; nor Mr. Collier, that he could have had any reputa- 
tion as an author before 1593. They suppose these older 
plays to have been written by other authors, and that they 
were only retouched by Shakespeare. Whether they were 
the work of this author, or another, it is certain, at least, 
that they were afterwards taken up by him, and carefully 
elaborated into the plays which we now have. The " Timon 
of Athens " of Shakespeare was, doubtless, an original 
work of a much later date. 

A cloud of obscurity hangs over the origin and early his- 
tory of these older plays. These conclusions would seem 
to be sufficiently well warranted by the facts which we 
know : first, that some of these old plays were original first 
draughts of this author, and that some of them may have 
been based upon older plays of other authors ; and second, 
that, in either case, they were already upon the stage at the 



34 EARLY PLAYS. 

date usually assigned for the arrival of William Shake* 
speare in London. But, as that date is not quite certain, 
and as it is not impossible that he may have sent plays to 
the theatre before that event, nothing more definite can be 
positively asserted than this, that, as Francis Bacon was by 
some three years the elder of the two, and had been snugly 
ensconced in Gray's Inn since 1579, with the aroma of a 
scholar of Trinity and the airs of the French Court still 
about him, it is at least more probable, in the first instance, 
that he should have been the author than the other. 

The " Hamlet " has been another of these enigmas. The 
first certain knowledge that we have of this play is, that it 
was performed at the Globe as early as 1602, having been 
entered, in July of that year, upon the Register of the 
Stationers' Company, as " lately acted by the Lord Cham- 
berlain's Servants." We may safely accept the conclusion 
of Mr. White, 1 that there was an older play of this name 
by another author, which was 'upon the stage in London 
prior to this date. It is mentioned in Henslowe's " Diary" 
in 1594. It was no doubt this older play that was alluded 
to, in 1596, by Dr. Lodge, who speaks of the ghost that 
cried in the theatre, " Hamlet, revenge ! " It is believed 
by White, Knight, and other critics, to have been the same 
play that was referred to, in 1589, by Nash, who says, "it 
is a common practice, now-a-days, amongst a shifting sort 
of companions that run through every art and thrive by 
none, to leave the trade of Noverint, whereto they were 
born, and busy themselves with the endeavours of art," and 

that " English Seneca, read by candle-light, will 

afford you whole Hamlets ; I should say handfuls of tragi- 
cal speeches," In the " Hamlet " of Shakespeare, which 
was printed in 1604, we have these words : — 

" Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light for the law of writ, 
and the liberty: these are the only men." 2 

1 White's Shakes., XI. 8-9. 

2 Devonshire Hamlets, (Lond. 1860), I. 41; II. 38. 



EARLY PLAYS. 35 

But, as it is very probable that there was some trace of 
Seneca, also, in the older play of 1589, this allusion, in that 
of 1602, cannot be taken as any proof of its identity with 
the other. It is a curious circumstance, however, that, in 
the year 1593-4, we find Francis Bacon diligently engaged 
in reading Seneca, Ovid, Virgil, Horace's "Art Poetic," 
the " Proverbs," and the " Adagia " of Erasmus, and taking 
notes ; and, in 1595-6, he quotes Seneca, thus : " For it is 
Seneca's rule, multum non multa.'' 1 And in several of the 
earlier plays may be found very distinct traces of this clas- 
sical reading, in the form of allusions, imitations, and quo- 
tations ; as for instance, in the " Titus Andronicus," in 
which the story of Tereus and Philomela is worked .into 
the texture of the tragedy out of Ovid's " Metamorphoses," 
together with quotations of whole lines of Latin verse out 
of Horace. In the " Love's Labor 's Lost," we have quo- 
tations from Virgil, Horace, and Ovid, an irrepressible 
sprinkling of Latin erudition, with a pretty copious inter- 
spersion of sonnets and rhymed verse ; and the whole play 
exhibits unmistakable impressions of the author's late resi- 
dence at the French Court. In the "Taming of the 
Shrew," written before 1594, the author has already begun 
to add to his studies of the poets " that part of philosophy " 

which treats 

" of happiness 

By virtue 'specially to be achieved," 

and to mingle Aristotle with Ovid : — 

" Tranio. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
I am in all affected as yourself; 
Glad that you thus continue your resolve 
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
Only, good master, while we do admire 
This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
Let 's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray, 
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, 
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: 
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, 

1 Advice to Greville ; Life and Letters, by Spedding, II. 23. 



36 EARLY PLAYS. 

And practice rhetoric in your common talk: 

Music and poetry use to quicken you ; 

The mathematics, and the metaphysics, 

Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you; 

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en ; — 

In brief, sir, study what you most affect." 

Act J. Sc. !• 

Lord Campbell, 1 assuming that the " Hamlet " alluded to 
by Nash was the play of Shakespeare, endeavors to draw 
an argument from Nash's fling at the trade of Noverint 
(that of the lawyers) in support of the position that Wil- 
liam Shakespeare himself was considered as one of those 
who had abandoned that profession. We know from con- 
temporaneous history that it was not an uncommon thing, 
in those days, for members of the Inns of Court to be writ- 
ing for the stage, and it is scarcely to be doubted that there 
was then in fact a class of persons answering perfectly well 
to this description of Nash. But the inference, first, that 
Nash alluded to Shakespeare, and second, that Shakespeare 
had been a student at law at Stratford, finds little warrant 
here, or elsewhere, beyond the irresistible evidence, con- 
tained in the plays themselves, that their author was a law- 
yer. No more is it to be inferred that Francis Bacon was 
the person intended, though he was at that time Reader, 
and for seven years had been an utter barrister, of Gray's 
Inn. Whether the play were the same or not, it is plain 
that Nash supposed it to have been written by a lawyer. 

This epistle of Nash had been appended to the " Mena- 
phon " of Robert Greene, who had been employed as a 
writer for the stage ; and Lord Campbell conjectures that 
the two friends, Nash and Greene, had been superseded 
by the appearance of a rival in the business, and thence, 
that this attack was aimed at William Shakespeare, as that 
other more express libel, which was contained in the 
" Groat's Worth of Wit," written by this same Greene, and 
published by Henry Chettle, in 1592, undoubtedly was. 
In this last, Greene addresses himself to his " Quondam 

1 Shakes. Legal Acquirements, 30-36. 



EARLY PLAYS. 37 

acquaintance that spend their wits in making Plays," 
and says, u Base-minded men, all three of you [Marlowe, 
Lodge, and Peele ?], if by my misery yee bee not warned : 
for unto none of you (like me) sought these burs to cleave : 
those Puppets (I mean) that speake from our mouths, those 
Anticks garnisht in our colours. Is it not strange that I, 
to whome they all have bin beholding, is it not like that 
you, to whom they all have bin beholding, shall (were yee 
in that case that I am now) be both of them at once for- 
saken ? Yes, trust them not ; for there is an upstart crow 
beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygres heart, 
wrapt in a players hyde, supposes hee is as well able to 
bombast out a blank verse as the best of you ; and beeing 
an absolute Johannes factotum, is, in his owne conceyt, the 
only Shake-scene in a countrey. Oh, that I might intreat 
your rare wittes to bee imployed in more profitable courses, 
and let these apes imitate your past excellence, and never 
more acquaynte them with your admyred inventions." 1 
This passage would seem to carry a direct insinuation that 
William Shakespeare, a mere actor, antic, and ape, was 
undertaking to shine in borrowed feathers, or it may mean 
no more than that he was, in Greene's estimation, an up- 
start player that had presumed to usurp the writer's calling. 
Mr. White has noticed that it contains a sort of parody on 
the following line of the third part of the " Henry VI." : — 
" Tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! " 2 

Whence it would appear that Greene had that very play in 
mind : nothing more need be inferred, however, than that 
plays had begun to appear upon the stage, which, so far as 
knowm to these writers, were attributed to Shakespeare ; 
came through his hands, perhaps, and from a source other- 
wise unknown to them ; and that if they really took him to 
be the author (as it seems they did), they w r ere unwilling 
to recognize him as one worthy to be admitted into their 

i Halliwell's Life of Shakes., 144. 

2 Act I. Sc. 4; White's Shakes., VII. 411. 



38 EARLY PLAYS. 

fraternity. Mr. White argues further, with much skill, that 
Greene meant to charge Shakespeare with plagiarism, also, 
from the rival poets, and cites as evidence of this hypoth- 
esis a sonnet from " Greene's Funerals by R. B. Gent" 
(1594), which says of Greene : — 

u Nay more, the men that so eclipst his fame, 
Purloyned his Plumes, can they deny the same? " 

But this is a general charge, aimed at more than one, and 
not particularly at Shakespeare. The apology of Chettle, 
however, makes it clear, that in the above passage from 
Greene, a sneer was aimed especially at him in respect of 
his supposed authorship ; for it says : " I am as sorry as if 
the originall fault had beene my fault, because myselfe 
have seene his demeanor no less civill than he excellent in 
the qualitie he professes ; besides, divers of worship have 
reported his uprightness of dealing which argues his hon- 
esty, and his facetious grace in writing that approoves his 
art." Now, whether these " divers of worship " were some 
great persons about the Court, who had taken Shakespeare 
under their especial protection, or were merely some 
respectable acquaintances who had certified to his merit 
and character, must be left to conjecture. Mr. White 
appeals to these passages in further proof of his theory, 
that Marlowe, Greene, and Peele, wrote some plays in 
conjunction with Shakespeare, and that Shakespeare, in 
resuming his own, had in some degree appropriated their 
labors, and purloined their plumes ; and he certainly makes 
a very plausible case of it. But i-t implies the assumption, 
both that William Shakespeare, in conjunction with those 
writers,.in fact wrote the original draughts of those plays, 
and that it was he who afterwards re-wrote and completed 
them ; and against these assumptions, the whole mass of 
evidence to be presented herein must stand arrayed ; for it 
would be idle to imagine that Francis Bacon ever wrote a 
play in conjunction with either of them. 

On the supposition that these plays came from Gray's 



EARLY PLAYS. 39 

Inn, and were the earlier attempts of a briefless young bar- 
rister, who did not desire to be known as a writer for the 
stage, and who meant to " profess not to be a poet," 1 but 
to whom any " lease of quick revenue " 2 might not be 
unacceptable, and some cover a practical necessity, it is not 
difficult to imagine, that this " absolute Johannes factotum " 
would be just the man to suit his purpose ; nor is it neces- 
sary to suppose that an express bargain was struck in terms 
between them, in the first instance, but rather that the 
arrangement came about gradually in the course of time 
and the actual progress of events. Nor would it be a 
matter of wonder that his sudden pretensions to dramatic 
authorship should be sneered at by a rival who saw him- 
self completely outdone (as he would suppose) by a mere 
under-actor, a puppet, an antic, and an ape. And when 
secret relations of this kind had once, come to be estab- 
lished between the parties, the scheme of introducing to 
the public the two larger poems, a few years later, under 
the disguise of a dedication in his name as a closer cover 
for the real author, may have been the more practicable. 
How this was possible with so eminent a person as the Earl 
of Southampton, will be further considered hereinafter; 
observing, now, that Southampton was an intimate associate 
of the Earl of Essex, and of Francis Bacon, Essex's friend 
and counsellor, at this very time, and that there is not the 
least allusion to William Shakespeare in all the writings of 
Bacon, though, as we know from direct history, he was an 
intimate friend and patron of Ben Jonson, was a friend and 
admirer of George Hex'bert and other poets of the time, 
was familiar with the Greek and Latin poets, was an admir- 
able orator and wit, was " a poetic imaginator," a lover and 
student of poetry, and himself a poet. 

Prior to the date of these dedications (1593-4), the name 
of William Shakespeare had not appeared on the title-page 
of any printed play. It is not until 1598 that his name 
1 Bacon's Apology concerning Essex, 2 Letter of Bacon. 



40 EARLY PLAYS. 

begins to be printed on the title-page of the quartos. The 
author was not named on the title-page of the first printed 
editions of the " Richard II.," the " Richard III.," and the 
" Romeo and Juliet," in 1597 ; nor on that of the first part of 
the " Henry IV.," printed in 1598, nor on that of the " Henry 
V.," first printed in 1600. The "Love's Labor's Lost," 
" newly corrected and augmented," and the second editions 
of the " Richard II." and the " Richard III.," that were 
printed in 1598, bore the name of Shakespeare on the title- 
page ; and so did the sonnets and poems collected and 
published by Jaggard, in 1599, under the title of the " Pas- 
sionate Pilgrim." But, after this date, the quartos appear, 
in most instances, at least, as " written," or as " newly cor- 
rected and augmented," or "newly set forth and over- 
seene," by William Shakespeare. It is in 1598 that Meres, 
in the " Wit's Treasury," names " the mellifluous and honey- 
tongued Shakespeare," in whom " the sweete witty soul of 
Ovid lives," as " witness his ' Venus and Adonis,' his ' Lu- 
crece,' and his ' sugred sonnets ' among his private friends" ; 
and he mentions the " Gentlemen of Verona," the " Errors," 
the " Love's Labor 's Lost," the " Love's Labor 's Wonne," 
the "Midsummer's Night Dreame," the " Merchant of 
Venice," the "Richard II.," the " Richard III.," the " Henry 
IV.," the " King John," the " Titus Andronicus," and the 
" Romeo and Juliet." Of all the pieces named by Meres, 
the two poems only had been printed under the name of 
Shakespeare before that year. And it is in 1599 that 
Weever writes : — 

" Honie-tongued Shakespeare, when I saw thine issue, 
I swore Apollo got them, and none other"; 

but he speaks only of the " fire hot Venus," the " chaste 
Lucretia," and 

" Eomeo, Richard, more whose names I know not." 1 

In 1594, Willobie's "A visa" alludes to the Rape of 
Lucrece : — 

i£i/e, byHalliwell, 189. 



EARLY PLAYS. 41 

" Yet Tarquyne pluct his glistering grape, 
And Shakespeare paints poor Lucrece rape." 

In the margin of the " Polimanteia " (1595), we find these 
words : " All praise, Lucretia — sweet Shakespeare." And 
soon after the death of Elizabeth, in 1603, this same 
Chettle, silenced before, but evidently by no means satis- 
fied, noticing that, among many tributes to the virtues of 
the late Queen, none came from William Shakespeare, 
ventured to break out anew in these lines : — 

" Xor doth the silver-tongued Melicert 
Drop from his honied muse one sable tear, 
To mourn her death that graced his desert, 
And to his laies open'd her royal 1 eare : 
Shepheard, remember our Elizabeth, 
And sing her rape, done by that Tarquin, Death." 1 

But down to the year 1598, nothing definite anywhere ap- 
pears, except these dedications to Southampton, and these 
allusions which followed them, on which to base the claim 
of this authorship for William Shakespeare, beyond the 
bare fact that the plays were upon the stage in the theatres 
with which he was connected, and were generally attrib- 
uted to him. He had already become a principal sharer 
and manager, had purchased New Place at Stratford-on- 
Avon, and was able to loan money to his friends. His 
wealth had been derived from the theatres of his company, 
and his success was due, in no small degree, perhaps, to 
the superior excellence of these plays. After this dedi- 
cation of the poems under his name, an undiscriminating 
public might be very well warranted in taking him to be 
the author of the plays also. If the plays came to the 
theatre through his hands, his fellow-actors would, of 
course, presume that he was himself the author of them, 
however much they might wonder that he never blotted 
out a line. They had to be attributed to somebody, and 
William Shakespeare does not appear to have declined the 
honor of their paternity. Greene might sneer, Nash insin- 

1 Mourning Garment, 1603. 



42 EARLY PLAYS. 

uate, and Ben Jonson criticize ; but he was under the protec- 
tion of " divers of worship," and his reputation soon became 
established among the printers. It was Shakespeare's tliea- 
. tre, and naturally enough they were Shakespeare's plays. 

As to the sonnets, it is by no means improbable that a 
reputation might arise in a similar manner. We know 
that in that age, when the art of printing had not as yet 
entirely superseded the circulation of manuscript copies, 
it was a common thing for various writings to be pass- 
ing about from hand to hand in manuscript. Says John 
Florio, who translated Montaigne's Essays in 1600, and 
was tutor to Prince Charles, and must have known some- 
thing of Shakespeare, and was doubtless well acquainted 
with Francis Bacon, in his preface to the M World of 
Words," printed in 1598 : " There is another sort of leer- 
ing crows that rather snarl than bite, whereof I could in- 
stance in one, who, lighting on a good sonnet of a gentle- 
man's, a friend of mine, that loved better to be a poet than 
to be counted so, called the author a rhymer." This may 
not have been Francis Bacon, but we know that Bacon 
wrote sonnets : some of them were addressed to the Queen, 
and were " commended by the great." Sir Philip Sidney 
had written sonnets. Sir Walter Raleigh wrote sonnets. 
Thomas Carew, a gentleman of the Bedchamber under 
Charles I., was a noted writer of sonnets. It was probably 
not an uncommon thing for manuscript sonnets to be cir- 
culating among great persons at this time. Indeed, we 
positively know that Bacon's sonnets and essays did pass 
from hand to hand, in that manner. The researches of 
Mr. Hepworth Dixon have ascertained the fact, that " a 
few essays, a few Religious Meditations, with some other 
short pieces of his composition, were passing, as Shakes^ 
peare's sugared sonnets and Raleigh's fugitive verses were 
at the same time passing, from hand to hand ; but a rogue 
of a printer being about to publish these scraps, their 
author, in fear of imperfect copies, put them with his own 



EARLY PLAYS. 43 

hands to the press." * And thus the first edition of the Es- 
says came to be printed, under Bacon's own hand, in 1597. 
In 1599, Jaggard, printer of several editions of the Essays 
between 1606 and 1624, had somehow come into posses- 
sion of a collection of sonnets and smaller poems, which he 
published under the name of William Shakespeare ; and 
in 1609, a larger collection was dedicated to "Mr. W. H., 
the only begetter of them," (on whom is invoked by the 
printer's preface "all happiness and that Eternity prom- 
ised by our ever-living poet"), believed by Mr. Collier, 
no doubt correctly, to have been William Herbert, son of 
Henry, Earl of Pembroke and his celebrated Countess, 

" Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; " 

who succeeded to the earldom in 1601, at the age of 
twenty-one, and was himself a poet, a writer of sonnets, 
and " a great patron of learning ; " 2 was an associate of 
Essex and Southampton, and is said to have been a rival, 
with Bacon and Coke, for the hand of the rich widow 
Hatton ; and was a friend of Bacon, a witness to his patent 
of peerage, and one of that " incomparable pair of breth- 
ren," to whom was dedicated the Folio of 1623 ; for, these 
plays, also, the author himself would take care to see pub- 
lished in authentic form, though in this instance under the 
name of another ; for he had determined not to be known 
as a poet ; yet, as he himself said of the first edition of the 
Essays, in the Epistle Dedicatory to his brother Anthony, 3 
"like some that have an orchard ill-neighboured, that 
gather their fruit before it is ripe to prevent stealing," or 
rather, as we may suppose, in the case of the plays, to 
preserve the ripe fruit and prevent it from being corrupted 
by stolen and mangled copies, or from being by mere 
neglect wholly lost to the world. And this epistle con- 

i Story of Lord Bacon' 's Life, by W.-Hepworth Dixon. London, 1862, 
d. 114. 

2 Wood's Athen. Oxon. II. 482; I. 523. 

3 Works, (Boston,) XII. 289. 



44 EARLY PLAYS. 

cerning the Essays may throw still further light on the 
whole subject, proceeding thus : — 

" These fragments of my conceits were going to print : 
to labour the stay of them had been troublesome, and sub- 
ject to interpretation ; to let them pass had been to adven- 
ture the wrong they might receive by untrue copies, or by 
some garnishment, which it might please any that should 
set them forth to bestow upon them. Therefore I held it 
best discretion to publish them myself, as they passed long 
ago from my pen, without any further disgrace, than the 
weakness of the author. And as I did ever hold, there 
might be as great a vanity in retiring and withdrawing 
men's conceits (except they be of some nature) from the 
world, as in obtruding them : so in these particulars I 
have played myself the Inquisitor, and find nothing to my 
understanding in them contrary or infectious to the state 
of Religion, or manners, but rather (as I suppose) medi- 
cinable. Only I disliked now to put them out because they 
will be like the late new half-pence, which though the 
Silver were good, yet the pieces were small. But since 
they would not stay with their Master, but would needs 
travel abroad, I have preferred them to you that are next 
to myself, dedicating them, such as they are, to our love, 
in the depth whereof (I assure you) I sometimes wish your 
infirmities translated upon myself, that her Majesty might 
have the service of so active and able a mind, and I might 
be with excuse confined to these contemplations and studies 
for which I am fittest." 

And the circumstances under which the " Troilus and 
Cressida," that "remarkable and singular production," as 
it is styled by Mr. Verplanck, first made its appearance, in 
1609, are worthy of note in this connection. It appears 
that an older play of this name, perhaps an earlier sketch 
of this very one (as Mr. Verplanck seems to think, though 
there is much reason to believe it was by another author 
altogether), had been entered upon the Stationers' Regis- 



EARLY PLAYS. 45 

ter in 1602-3, but never printed; but before 1609, it must 
have been greatly enlarged and improved (if indeed this 
were not wholly a new play) in the most matured style of 
this master ; and it was first presented before the King's 
Majesty at Court, in that year, and thence sent directly 
to the printer, and was printed with a preface, and with 
the name of William Shakespeare on the title-page, before 
it had ever appeared at the theatre. 1 The printer's preface 
(and, of course, the printer would expect the author him- 
self to furnish the preface as well then as now) announces 
it thus : — 

" A never writer to an ever reader. 

NEWES. 

Eternall reader [a " never writer " must have meant 
one never known to the public as a writer of plays, and 
could not well be William Shakespeare himself who was 
writing so much for the ever-reading public], you have 
heere a new play never stal'd with the stage, never clapper- 
clawed with the palmes of the vulger, and yet passing full 
of the palme comicall ; for it is a birth of your braine, that 
never undertooke any thing comicall vainely : and were 
but the vaine names of commedies changde for the titles 
of commodities, or of playes for pleas [mind still running 
on pleas], you should see all those grand censors, that 
now stile them such vanities, flock to them for the main 
grace of their gravities [" we cannot but know their dig- 
nity greater, than to descend to the reading of these 
trifles," says the Dedication to the Folio, and " I have 
done with such vanities," says Bacon, in answer to a sum- 
mons to the House of Lords, some time afterwards] ; espe- 
cially this author's commedies, that are so fram'd to the 
life. [" Painter. It is a pretty mocking of the life ; " 2 and 
says Bacon, " I must do contrary to that that painters do ; 

i White's Shakes., IX. 1-16; Papers of the Shales. Soc, III. 79. London. 

2 Timon of Athens, Act I. Sc. 1. 



46 EARLY PLAYS. 

for they desire to make the picture to the life, and I must 
endeavour to make the life to the picture," *] that they 
serve for the most common commentaries of all the actions 
of our lives, showing such a dexteritie, and power of witte, 
that the most displeased with playes are pleased with his 
commedies, [says Bacon's letter to the King (1621), 
" Cardinal Wolsey said that if he had pleased God as 
he pleased the King, he had not been ruined. My con- 
science saith no such thing ; for I know not but in serving 
you, I served God in one. But it may be if I had pleased 
God, as I had pleased you, it would have been better for 
me "]. ... So much and such savord salt of witte is in 
his commedies, that they seem (for their height of pleasure 
[" it hath been the height of our care," says the Dedica- 
tion again]) to be borne in that sea that brought forth 
Venus. Amongst all there is none more witty than this ; 
and had I time, I would comment upon it, though I know 
it needs not, (for so much as will make you thinke your 
testern well bestow'd,) but for so much worth, as even 
poore I know to be stuft in it [certainly there can be no 
doubt of that, your worship.] It deserves such a labour, 
as well as the best commedy in Terence or Plautus : and 
believe this, that when hee is gone, and his commedies out 
of sale, you wdll scramble for them, and set up a new 
English inquisition [some twelve years before, the Dedi- 
catory Epistle to the Essays had said, " so in these particu- 
lars I have played myself the Inquisitor "]. Take this for 
a warning, and at the perill of your pleasures losse, and 
judgments, refuse not, nor like this the lesse for not being 
sullied with the smoaky breath of the multitude ; but thanke 
fortune for the 'scape it hath made amongst you. Since 
by the grand possessors' wills, I believe, you should have 
prayd for them, rather than beene prayd. And so I 
leave all such to bee prayd for (for the states of their wits 
healths) that will not praise it. — Vale" 
i Letter, 1619. 



EARLY PLAYS. 47 

It is positively asserted here, that the play was a new 
one, and that it had never been npon the stage, nor been 
sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude. The writer 
must have known this. It was first produced at Court, 
and was no doubt addressed rather to the refined and 
learned personages that would be there assembled to hear 
it, than to the unlettered multitude ; and these being " the 
grand possessors," and the play being such as he knew it 
to be, he did not hesitate to tell the public, that they might 
be thankful that they ever got it at all, and, if they knew 
what was good for themselves, they should rather pray to 
have it than be prayed to take it ; and this is as true to- 
day as it was then ; for as we know, it seldom appears upon 
the public stage, though full of the loftiest wisdom. 

But very soon after it was printed, it found its way to 
the theatre, and shortly after it had appeared upon the 
stage, and in the same year, a second edition was issued 
from the same type, only suppressing this preface, and 
announcing the play on the title-page " as it was acted by 
the King's Majesty's Servants* at the Globe : Written by 
William Shakespeare." It had now come to be a Shakes- 
peare's play. From this significant allusion to the " grand 
possessors' wills," both Tieck and Knight have inferred 
that the manuscript came from the possession, or control, 
either of the King himself, or of some great personage 
about the Court, and that Shakespeare had written this 
" wonderful comedy " for that person and for the use of 
the revels at Court, and not for the public stage ; an in- 
ference, which would seem to carry upon its face the ap- 
pearance of a forced construction. In view of all that will 
be offered herein touching the question of this authorship, 
it may appear more probable, and these very facts may 
give us some intimation, that the great personage in ques- 
tion was himself the author of the play, being no other 
(as it will be shown) than Sir Francis Bacon, then lately 
become Solicitor-General. At least, not inconsistent with 



f 



48 EARLY PLAYS. 

this conclusion, is Mr. Verplanck's excellent appreciation 
of the play itself, in these words : — 

" Its beauties are of the highest order. It contains pas- 
sages fraught with moral truth and political wisdom — high 
truths, in large and philosophical discourse, such as re- 
mind us of the loftiest disquisitions of Hooker, or Jeremy 
Taylor, on the foundations of social law. Thus the com- 
ments of Ulysses (Act I. Sc. 3) on the universal obligation 
of the law of order and degree, and the confusion caused 
by rebellion to its rule, either in nature or in society, are 
in the very spirit of the grandest and most instructive elo- 
quence of Burke. The piece abounds too in passages of 
the most profound and persuasive practical ethics, and 
grave advice for the government of life ; as when in the 
third act, Ulysses (the great didactic organ of the play) im- 
presses upon Achilles the consideration of man's ingrati- 
tude 'for good deeds past/ and the necessity of perse- 
verance to ' keep honor bright.' " 

And in further confirmation of this view, we find in this 
play one of those numerous instances of similarity, not to 
say identity, of thought and language, which, independent 
of^extraneous circumstances, though not absolutely con- 
clusive in themselves, are, nevertheless, scarcely less con- 
vincing than the most direct evidence when considered 
with all the rest ; for, in the " Advancement of Learning," 
treating of moral culture, Bacon quotes Aristotle as say- 
ing, " that young men are no fit auditors o f moral philos - 
ophy ," because " they are not settled from the boiling heat 
of their affections, nor attempered with time and experi- 
ence." And in the " Troilus and Cressida," we have the 
same thing in these lines : — 

" Not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosc^phy. ,, — Act II. Sc. 2. 

Mr. Spedding notices that Aristotle speaks only of " polit- 
ical philosophy," and he observes that the error of Bacon, in 



EARLY PLAYS. 49 J 

making hini^peak- gf^ ^moral^hilosophy," h a d be^nfollowe d^ ' \ 

T3y~KH ^espeare 7 The "Advancement" was published in fr^rZjdt' i 
1605, and this appears to have been a new play in 1608, \ 
(if, indeed, that older play of 1602 were not a first sketch 
of the same piece,) and so, it is barely possible that William 
Shakespeare may have seen the "Advancement" before 
those lines were written. But the whole tenor of the argu- 
ment in the play is so exactly in keeping with Bacon's man- 
ner and mode of dealing with the subject, that it is hard to 
believe a mere plagiarist would have followed him so pro- 
foundly. Bacon expresses the same opinions somewhat 
more fully in the De Augmentis, (published in 1623,) that 
" young men are less fit auditors of policy than of morals, 
until they have been thoroughly seasoned in religion and 
the doctrine of morals and duties ; for, otherwise, the 
judgment is so depraved and corrupted that they are apt j 
to think there are no true and solid moral differences of 
things, and they measure everything according to utility or 
success, as the poet says : — 

" Prosperum et foelix scelus virtus vocatur." 1 
Now, this is precisely the depraved judgment of young . 
Paris, according to his speech in the play. He argued V 
that it would be disgraceful to the Trojan leaders to give 
up Helen, " on terms of base compulsion " : he 

" would have the soil of her fair rape 

Wip'd off in honorable keeping her." 

To which Hector replies altogether too much in Bacon's 
own style, not to have participated in his studies : — 

" Hect. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well ; 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have gloz'd, — but superficially ; not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy. 
The reasons you allege, do more conduce 
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood, 
Than to make up a free determination 

1 De Aug. Lib. VII., WorJca (Boston), III. 45 
4 



50 DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 

'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge 

Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 

Of any true decision. Nature craves 

All dues be render'd to their owners: now, 

What nearer debt in all humanity 

Than wife is to the husband V if this law 

Of nature be corrupted through affection, 

And that great minds, of partial indulgence 

To their benumbed wills, resist the same, 

There is a law in each well-ordered nation, 

To curb those raging appetites that are 

Most disobedient and refractory. 

If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king, — 

As it is known she is, — these moral laws 

Of nature and of nations speak aloud 

To have her back return'd: thus to persist 

In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, 

But makes it much more heavy." — Act II Sc. 2. 

In addition to the similarity of idea in respect of the 
errors of young men as to the doctrine and foundation of 
morals, there is an outcropping of identical expression in 
such phrases as these : " not settled from the boiling heat of 
their affections, nor attempered with time and experience" 
and " to the hot passion of distempered blood " ; " the judg- 
ment is so depraved and corrupted" and " if this law of na- 
' ture be corrupted through affection " ; " no true and solid 
moral differences of things" and "these moral laws of nature 
and of nations " ; " the soil of her fair rape wip^d off in hon- 
orable keeping her" and " scelus virtus vocatur " ; which are 
altogether too special, palpable, and peculiar, to be acciden- 
tal, or to be due to any common usage of that or any age ; 
and there would seem to be no room left for the possibility 
of a doubt as to the identity of the authorship. 

§ 7, DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 

Not only these plays and poems, but six other plays, 
which did not appear in that Folio, and which have never 
been received into the genuine canon, were likewise pub- 
lished, in Shakespeare's lifetime, under his name, or initials, 
viz: the "Sir John Oldcastle " in 1600, the "London 



DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 51 

Prodigal" in 1605, the "Yorkshire Tragedy" in 1608, ^^ 
(and the " Pericles" in 1609,) under his name in full ; and 
the "Locrine" in 1595, the "Thomas Lord Cromwell" in 
1602, and the " Puritan, or Widow of Watling Street" in 
1607, under the initials " W. S.," which some critics have 
taken to mean William Shakespeare, w T hile others, with 
Malone, have agreed that they meant William Smith, and, 
with Pope, that Shakespeare never wrote a single line of 
them. These plays were in the possession of his theatre, 
and doubtless came into the hands of the printers in like 
manner with many of the others, which were in like man- 
ner reputed to be his. And not only these, but still another 
list was imputed to him, in his own time and afterwards, 
viz : the " Arraignment of Paris," the " Arden of Fever- 
sham," the "Edward III.," the "Birth of Merlin," the 
" Fair Em ; the Miller's Daughter," and the " Mucedorus," 
as well as the "Merry Devil of Edmonton," acted at the 
Globe, and printed, in 1608, under the names of Shake- 
speare and Rowley, and the " Two Noble Kinsmen," printed 
after the death of Shakespeare under his name and that of 
Fletcher ; most of w T hich have been rejected by nearly all 
critics as not Shakespeare's. 

Of the three that were published under his name in full, 
in his lifetime, there is scarcely any room to doubt that 
they were written by other authors. According to Malone, 
the " Sir John Oldcastle " was written by Munday, Drayton, 
Wilson, and Hathwaye. The first and second parts of it 
were entered in the books of the Stationers' Company, in 
1600 ; the first part was printed in the name of William 
Shakespeare, in that year, as performed at Henslowe's the- 
atre ; and an entry in Henslowe's diary shows that, in 1599, 
he paid those authors for both parts ; but the second part — ' 
was never printed. Mr. Knight and other later critics con- 
cur in the judgment of Malone, that it is clearly not a play / 
of Shakespeare. 

The " Yorkshire Tragedy " w r as entered and printed in*" 



52 DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 

1608; the event on which the story is founded did not 
happen until 1604 ; and although there may be no decisive 
reasons, grounded on internal evidence merely, why it may 
not have been a careless and hasty production of this 
author, it is difficult to believe that he could have produced 
such a play at about the same time that he was writing 
the " Hamlet," the " Lear," the " Macbeth," and the "Julius 
Caesar." The best judges concur in rejecting it as not 

x written by him. 

The "London Prodigal" was published in 1605, as 
played by the " King's Majesty's Servants " of the Globe, 
and as written by William Shakespeare ; but Malone, 
Knight, and White reject it altogether. And of the other 
three, while it appears that one of them, the " Lord Crom- 
well," was performed by his company, the evidence is still 
more satisfactory, that they were all written by some other 
person, and probably by William Smith. Concerning the 
other list, the evidence is more uncertain ; but while some 
critics have believed that Shakespeare might have written 
at least some of them, the weight of fact and opinion is 
pretty decidedly against them all. 

— ' On the whole, it would seem to be very certain that plays 
were published in his name, in his own time, of which he 

N^was not the author. Nor does it appear that he ever took 
the least trouble to prevent this unwarrantable use of his 
name : no denial, or other vindication of his reputation, 
has come down to us. We know that it was not an unu- 
sual thing, in those days, for " sharking booksellers " to set 
a great name to a book " for sale-sake." The name of Sir 
Philip Sidney was used in this manner, and even that of 
Shakespeare was set to Heywood's translation of Ovid, by 
Jaggard, in 1612; but Mr. Halliwell finds some intimation, 
coming from Heywood himself, that Shakespeare was 
"much offended" with Jaggard for this liberty with his 
name : it is more probable, in this instance, that Heywood 
would be the most offended man of the two. It may be 



DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 53 

taken as sufficiently established, that this good-natured actor 
and manager was in the habit of publishing, or suffering to 
be published, in his name or initials, the plays which were 
owned by his theatre, as they were produced on the stage, 
of some of which it is well ascertained that he was not the 
author ; that he was not particular about shining thus in 
borrowed feathers ; that he never took the least care of his 
reputation as an author, either before or after his retiring 
from the stage ; and so, that the simple fact, that the plays 
and poems appeared under his name, and being reputed to 
be his, in his own time, so passed into the traditional myth, 
must lose nearly all force of evidence as touching the ques- 
tion of the real authorship. In a word, he was just such a 
character as would naturally be hit upon as a convenient 
and necessary cover for an aspiring and prolific genius, an 
irrepressible wit, a poetic imaginator, a man of all knowl- 
edge, classical learning, and a world-wide soul, who was at 
the same time ambitious of promotion in the state, in which 
direction lay the plan of his life, though never basely obse- 
quious to power withal (as some have imagined), still suf- 
fering by neglect and " the meanness of his estate," solicit- 
ing in vain, lacking advancement, and " eating the air, 
promise-crammed " ; and who had determined to " profess 
not to be a poet," but felt that he had a mission beyond the 
exigencies of the hour, and what is more, that his light 
must shine, though he should conceal his name in a cloud, 

"And keep invention in a noted weed." 

Sonnet Ixxvi. 

But if any one shall deem it necessarv to assign some of 
these doubtful plays to this author, he will consider that this 
argument loses nothing in strength or force on that account. 
Between, the time of Bacon's becoming an utter barrister of 
Gray's Inn, in 1582, and the publication of the "Venus and 
Adonis," there was a period often years, in which a number 
of such plays may much better have been written by him 
than by William Shakespeare. They were not admitted 



54 DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 

into the Folio of 1623 ; the editors, whether Heming and 
Condell, or some other, either knew them to be spurious, 
or rejected them as youthful and inferior productions, and 
as unworthy to take a place among the greater works of the 
author before the tribunal of posterity ; and all critics seem 
to concur in that opinion of their relative merit. It may 
have been for the same reason that the " Pericles " was not 
included in the Folio, though undoubtedly a work of this 
author. It is quite possible, however, that the copyright had 
been sold, and could not be regained. The play appears to 
have been founded upon a very ancient and popular tale, 
and it is highly probable that it was an early work, though 
by no means a weak or an immature production. The best 
critics seem to agree that it had been retouched by the 
hand of the master in his better style before it was brought 
out anew in 1607-8, and printed in 1609, as " the late and 
much admired play called ; Pericles, Prince of Tyre/ " and 
" as it hath been divers and sundry times acted by his Maj- 
esty's Servants at the Globe on the Banckside," w T ith the 
name of William Shakespeare on the title-page. The text 
(say Harness and White) is very corrupt and full of er- 
rors ; and the reason of this may lay precisely in the fact 
that it was not revised by the real editor of the. Folio, nor 
printed under his supervision. The story is more ancient 
than the time and countries in w 7 hich the scene is laid. It 
is a deeply interesting and touching dramatic romance, as 
addressed not to modern rose-water criticism merely, but 
to the human heart of the world's theatre, and rather as it 
was in the ancient than in the modern times ; and the 
spirit of the Greek drama, and even much of the touching 
simplicity of the tales of the Odyssey, is preserved in it. 
The first scene of the fifth act, in particular, bears a close 
resemblance to the style and manner of the dramatic dia- 
logue of Euripides. So, likewise, the " Titus Andronicus " 
is, in some points of substance rather than in the form, a 
near imitation of the more serious Greek tragedy ; and it 



DOUBTFUL PLAYS. 55 

furnishes indubitable evidence that the author was familiar 
with the ancient drama. The main topics of this history 
of the Prince of Tyre afford occasion, also, for those pro- 
found exhibitions of human nature in the opposite ex- 
tremes of vice and virtue which came within the range of 
this author's studies. And after a manner which is at least 
not improbable for the younger hand of Francis Bacon, 
who, throughout his life, held knowledge and virtue to be 
superior to riches ; who, in his youth, had taken all knowl- 
edge to be his province, and, as he said himself, " rather 
referred and aspired to virtue than to gain ; " l who pursued 
that immortality which makes a man a god, confessing he 
was by nature ' : fitter to hold a book than play a part " ; 
and who made a study of all arts, and was particularly 
curious in his investigations into the medicinal virtues 
of plants and minerals, as well as into all the hidden mys- 
teries of Nature, being also much in the habit of turning 
over authorities ; — Lord Cerimon speaks thus in the 
" Pericles " : — 

" I held it ever, 
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs 
May the two latter darken and expend; 
But immortality attends the former, 
Making a man a god. 'T is known I ever 
Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
By turning o'er authorities, I have 
(Together with my practice) made familiar 
To me and to my aid the blest infusions 
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; 
And I can speak of the disturbances 
That Nature works, and of her cures ; which gives 
A more content in course of true delight 
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, 
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
To please the Tool and Death." —Act III. Sc. 2. 

1 Letter to Egerton. 



56 THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 



§ 8. the author's attainments. 
It will be unnecessary to undertake to demonstrate at 
large herein, from the internal evidence contained in the 
plays themselves, that their author was a classical scholar, 
was acquainted with several foreign languages, was an adept 
in natural science, was a lawyer by profession, was a pro- 
found metaphysical philosopher, and was in general a man 
of high and polished culture and extensive learning for his 
time in all branches of human knowledge, in addition to the 
largest amount of natural genius and intellectual power 
which may reasonably be allowed to any mortal. The most 
competent judges in these matters have so pronounced. 
The inference has been, not that any other man was in 
fact the author of these works (at least, until Miss Delia 
Bacon ventured so to declare * ), but that the received 
biography of William Shakespeare was a myth and a mis- 
take ; and so the chief critics have proceeded to imagine 
for him some unwritten and unknown biography. But we 
shall have to accept the known personal history as at last 
the true account (in the main) of the man William Shake- 
speare. The later inquiries of modern scholars, the Shake- 
speare Society included, have ended only in rendering the 
supposition still more extravagant and absurd than it was 
before ; for the results, which have been carefully summed 
up by Mr. Halliwell and later biographers, furnish no data 
on which the^ previous account of his life can be in any 
material degree modified in respect of this matter. On 
the contrary, the new facts (such as are not forgeries) only 
concur with what was known before in representing him to 
us as a man whose heart and soul were more intent upon 
business, social affairs, and (what Lord Coke took to be 
the chief end of man) industrious money-getting, than upon 
anything that pertained to the literary part of his profes- 
sion. The essential problem still remains. 

l Phil, of Shakes. Plays Unfolded. Boston, 1857. 



THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 57 

A few brief words only will be added under this topic. 
The writer was a classical scholar. Kowe found traces in 
him of the " Electra " of Sophocles ; Colman, of Ovid ; 
Pope, of Dares Phrygius and other Greek authors ; Far- 
mer, of Horace and Virgil ; Malone, of Lucretius, Statius, 
Catullus, Seneca, Sophocles, and Euripides ; Steevens, of 
Plautus ; Knight, of the "Antigone " of Sophocles ; White, 
of the "Alcestis " of Euripides ; and doubtless many re- 
semblances and imitations of the ancient authors have 
been noticed by other critics and scholars. For resem- 
blances with Euripides, certainly too striking to be alto- 
gether accidental, the curious reader may compare these 
passages: "Orestes," 1204-6, and "Electra," 693, with 
"Macbeth," I. 7 ; " Orestes," 1271, with " Hamlet," III. 4 ; 
"Orestes," 1291 and 1375, with "Macbeth," II. 2 ; and gen- 
erally the " Orestes " and " Electra " with " Hamlet " and 
"Macbeth"; "Medea," 1284-9, with "Hamlet," IV. 7; 
"Hellene," 270, with Sonnet CXXI; " Hellene," 512-14, 
with " Eichard II.," II. 1 ; " Rhesus " with " 3 Henry VI.," 
IY. 2 ; and also the "Antigone " of Sophocles, 1344-5, with 
the " Tirnon of Athens," IV. 3, and the Timon of Lucian 
with the play of " Timon." 

Some have sought, with Dr. Farmer, to find the source 
of all this classical learning in sundry English translations, 
but it has been an idle undertaking ; for it appears that he 
drew, in fact, from the untranslated authors. The greater 
part of the story of Timon was taken from the untranslated 
Greek of Lucian, an author that is several times quoted in 
the writings of Bacon. Ovid and Tacitus were favorite 
authors with Bacon, and frequent traces of both are to be 
found in the plays. The " Comedy of Errors" was little 
more than a reproduction (in a different dress) of the Me- 
noechmi of Plautus, also an author that is frequently quoted 
by Bacon. The first mention that we have of this play is, 
that it was performed during the twelve days of the Christ- 
mas Revels at Gray's Inn, in 1594, on which occasion it is 



58 THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 

now historically known that Francis Bacon furnished at 
least a masque, 1 and (as I will attempt to prove) this very 
play also ; and there was»no translation of the Menoechmi 
before 1595. Beginning the career of an actor with " small 
Latin and less Greek/' William Shakespeare cannot be pre- 
sumed to have made himself acquainted with much of the 
Greek and Latin literature, and especially not with Soph- 
ocles, Euripides, and Plato, as this writer undoubtedly was ; 
for these had not been translated. The author was able to 
drink deep of the very spirit of the Greek tragedy, without 
danger of drowning in the bowl ; according to some great 
critics, he surpassed it altogether; and a thorough student 
may discover in the plays not only traces of Plato, but a 
wonderful approximation to the depth and breadth of the 
Platonic philosophy. Moreover, he was well versed in the 
ancient mythology, and in the history, manners, and cus- 
toms of antiquity : in short, he knew all the wisdom of the 
ancients. 

It is equally clear that he knew French and Italian. 
The story of Othello was taken from the Italian of 
Cinthio's " II Capitano Moro," of which no translation is 
known to have existed ; the tale of " Cymbeline " was drawn 
from an Italian novel of Boccaccio, not known to have been 
translated into English ; and the like is true of some other 
plays. Several of the plays were founded upon stories 
taken from Belleforest's 4i Histoires Tragiques," of which 
soiue few were to be found in Painter's translation, of 
which one volume had been published in the time of 
Shakespeare, but others of them had not been translated. 
Francis Bacon had lived four years in Paris, and was mas- 
ter of the French, Italian, and Spanish languages ; and it 
is highly probable that, in 1580, he would be in possession 
of the " Histoires Tragiques" as well as of the Essays of 
Montaigne in the original French. Florio's translation of 
Montaigne was published in 1603, and it has been said 
l Spedding's Letters and Life of Bacon (London, 1881 j, I. 325-34:2. 



THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 59 

that an old copy had been found which contained an auto- 
graph of William Shakespeare ; but Mr. Halliwell is com- 
pelled to reject the story as not authentic. Nevertheless, 
it is reasonable enough to suppose that so notable a book 
as this was may have fallen into his hands. 

The author was skilled in natural science. He pursued 
a scientific rather than the common method of observation, 
though the scientific observation of that day had in it some- 
thing of poetic vagueness and generality as compared with 
modern methods. This is visible in the nature of his illus- 
trations, metaphors, and allusions ; and it is clear that he 
had made some study of the medical science and materia 
medica of his time. Pope did not fail to notice that he 
had a taste for " natural philosophy and mechanics." He 
understood the whole machinery of astrology, alchemy, 
witchcraft, and sorcery, not merely as it stood in the popu- 
lar traditions, but in the sense of the written literature of 
that day ; and he had a philosophy of spirits, ghosts, 
witches, dreams, visions, and prophecies, so subtle and pro- , 
found as to be beyond the reach of uninitiated and unin- ; 
structed genius. 'The spontaneous and merely natural man 
does not proceed in that manner. | He will see things in a 
certain general, vague, and common way, as it were, in the j 
gross and complex only, and rather in merely fanciful rela- . 
tions than in that accurate manner of close and deep analy- 
sis, which also discovers the scientific form and real nature 
of things, as seen in all true poetry ; and such must have 
been the habit and manner of this author. This accords 
with the known history of Bacon's earlier as w r ell as his 
later years ; for he was always a close observer of nature, 
and pursued in private his experimental researches, never 
losing sight of his great work, the instauration of natural 
history and physical science, as the surest foundation for 
philosophy itself, and the safest road into the higher realm 
of metaphysics. It w r ould indeed be a wonder, as Pope 
said, if a man could know the world by intuition, and see ; 
through nature at one glance. 



30 THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 

He was a lawyer too. His use of legal terms and phrases, 
in the sonnets as well as the plays, and his representations 
of legal proceedings, are of such a kind and character, that 
it is at once apparent to the mind of a lawyer, that the 
writer had been educated to that profession. Mr. Collier 

) and Lord Campbell were not the first to observe this very 
important fact. Neither the long list of examples cited by 
Malone, 1 nor the learned essay of Lord Campbell, by any 
means contains them all ; they pervade these writings with 
/that peculiar use which is familiar to the lawyer only, and 
they flow from him as unconsciously as his very soul. Such 
learning, most certainly, does not come by instinct, though 
we admit, with Dogberry, that "to read and write comes 
by nature " ; and no acquaintance which William Shake- 
speare could have had with the law, consistently with' the 
known facts of his life, can reasonably account for this 

r striking feature in the plays/ It was not to be had in the 
office of a bailiff; and the considerations referred to by 
Lord Campbell, though of the nature of negative evidence, 
ought to be taken as satisfactory, that he could never have 
been a regular student at law at Stratford-on-Avon ; espe- 
cially since his Lordship did not become a convert to this 
unavoidable and very necessary theory of Mr. Collier. 

The speech of the Archbishop on the Salic law, in the 

' u Henry V.," as Dr. Farmer observed, was evidently taken, 

and almost literally versified, from a passage in Holinshed's 

4 Chronicles,' 2 together with a quotation from the Book of 
Numbers, to the effect that when a man dies without a son, 
the inheritance descends to the daughter. And it is at 
least singularly curious, that in the "Apothegms " of Bacon 
<\ there are two anecdotes, based, the one upon the same doc- 
trine with regard to the Salic law as that maintained in 
this speech, viz., that in France itself males claimed by 
women, with a repetition of the French " gloss 5 ' of Holin- 
shed ; and the other upon a quotation from Scripture, as in 
1 Chiton. Order of Shakes. Plays. 2 Chron. of Eng. III. 65. 



THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 61 

both Holinshed and the speech. It is, of course, possible 
that Shakespeare might make plays, and Bacon, apothegms, 
out of Holinshed ; but when numerous instances of the 
same kind occur (as will be shown), it may well furnish an 
indication that the transition took place through the same 
mind in both cases. He was in the habit of making apo- 
thegms of his own wit; that concerning the " seditious 
prelude " of Dr. Hayward (as supposed) and his own 
facetious attempt to avert the anger of the Queen, who 
thought there was treason in it, may be taken as one in- 
stance ; and perhaps we have another in the apothegm of 
the fellow named Hogg, who importuned Sir Nicholas 
Bacon to save his life, claiming that there was kindred be- 
tween Hog and Bacon. " Aye," replied the judge, " you 
and I cannot be kindred, except you be hanged ; for Hog 
is not Bacon until it be well hanged." * And the same jest 
appears in the " Merry Wives of Windsor," thus : — 

" Evans. Accusitivo, hi?ig, hang, hog. 
Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

A passage in the second part of the " Henry IV." 
(Act III. Sc. 2) would seem to render it highly probable 
that the writer himself had seen somebody " fight with one 
Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn." There 
are allusions also in the first part of the " Henry IV.," from 
which it may be inferred that St. Albans was a familiar 
name and a favorite place with the author ; and Gorham- 
bury near St. Albans had been the country residence of 
his father, and, after his father's death, of his mother, and 
subsequently, his own country-seat. He was several times 
elected to Parliament for the borough of St. Albans, which 
was the site of the ancient Verulamium, whence were taken 
his titles of Baron Verulam and Viscount St. Albans ; and 
he directed by his will that his remains should be buried. 
in " St. Michael's Church, near St. Albans." And after his 
fall from power, when he had returned to his lodgings in 

i Bacon's Apothegms. 



62 THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 

Gray's Inn, and his " labours were now most set to have 
those works," which he had formerly published, " made 
more perfect," in a proposal which he was making to the 
King for a "Digest of the Laws," he says : u As for myself, 
the law was my profession, to which I am a debtor ; some 
little helps I have of other arts, which may give form to 
matter." 

f Moreover, this writer was a philosopher. " He was not 
- only a great poet, but a great philosopher," says Coleridge. 
These words from such a man may be presumed to mean 
something, ^nd when such judges of the matter as Schil- 
ler, Goethe, and Jean Paul Richter also agree in finding 
that he was a philosopher, no one need be amazed at the 
assertion, that he was master of all the learning of the 
Greeks, and had sounded the depths of Plato. For the 
mass of readers, it can no more be expected, that they 
should comprehend, in any adequate manner, what this 
really means, than that they should understand, without 
^more, what was meant by the Philosopkia Prima of Bacon, 
pv " Philosophy itself." But it can never mean less than 
one who has carried his studies into the highest realms of 
'human thought and culture ; and that was never the work 
of a day, nor often of a whole life. ^ Nor was it ever the 
-""work of intuition merely^ It is at least conceivable, that a 
man who was capable of taking a critical survey of all pre- 
vious learning, and pointing out the way for the advance- 
ment of human knowledge, who wrote civil and moral 
essays upon all phases of life and character, which still 
live as fresh as ever, and who could venture to undertake 
the instauration, not of physical science merely, but of 
philosophy itself, might, by possibility, be able to write such 
dramas as the " Romeo and Juliet," the " Midsummer 
Night's Dream," the " As You Like It," the " Measure for 
Measure," the " Cymbeline," the " Hamlet," the " Lear," the 
" Macbeth," the " Timon of Athens," the " Troilus and 
Cressida," and the " Tempest " ; but, for such a man as we 



THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 63 

know for William Shakespeare, it would appear to be aS 
thing next to impracticable, if not wholly impossible. It 
would probably be of no sort of use or effect to declare 
here that this consideration, dul^js^i^ie4^ougM^Jo_Jt^_ 
taken as conclusive of the whole matter. In fact, it will 
not; and the inquiry must proceed. 

A well-marked difference may be looked for between the 
earlier and the later works of any writer. More striking 
evidence of growth does not exist in the works of Schiller, 
or Goethe, which were produced before, and those produced 
after, they respectively became initiated into the mysteries 
of the higher philosophy, than is manifest in the earlier and 
later plays of Shakespeare. In either case, the collegiate 
erudition of the tyro is, at length, lost in the comprehen-" 
sive learning of the finished scholar, and the exuberant 
fancy of the spontaneous poet and inexperienced youth 
becomes subdued into the matured strength and breadth, 
the depth of feeling, and the prophetic insight of the seer 
and the philosopher. We know that Francis Bacon had- 
practiced those " Georgics of the Mind " on which all criti- I 
cal thinking and high art depend.. He comprehended that 
M Exemplar or Platform of Good," the u Colours of Good s 
and Evil/' and that " Regiment or Culture of the Mind," * J 
whereby alone the highest excellence may be reached ; and 
he had attained to that noble philosophy, whereby only the 
soul of man is to be " raised above the confusion of things " \ 
to that height of Plato, where, situate as upon a cliff, he \ 
may have " a prospect of the order of nature and the 
errours of men." 2 

In Francis Bacon, we have a man three years older than 
William Shakespeare, and, when the latter came to Lon- 
don, already ten years from the University and some four 
years an utter barrister of Gray's Inn, and well prepared, 
by the best possible advantages of early education, finished 
classical scholarship, foreign travel, and residence at royal 
l Adv. of Learning, 2 Works (Montagu), I. 252. 



64 THE AUTHOR'S ATTAINMENTS. 

courts, extraordinary natural gifts and learned acquisitions, 
L ifor commencing and prosecuting such a work; and in the 
situation of the briefless young barrister, in the midst of 
books, making slow progress in the profession, getting no 
advancement for a period of twenty-five years after his 
coming to the bar beyond the unproductive honor of a 
Queen's or King's Counsel and a seat in Parliament, labor- 
ing under the twofold embarrassment of an expensive 
mode of life and debt to the Lombards and Jews, casting 
. about for " some lease of quick revenue " to relieve (as he 
/ says) " the meanness of my estate," enjoying the society of 
the theatre-going and masque-devising young courtiers, the 
dazzling favor of the Court, the ample leisure of Gray's 
Inn, and occasionally the Arcadian quiet of Gorhambury 
and Twickenham Park ; and in his known devotion to all 
manner of studies and the profoundest speculations, we 
may find the needful preparation, the time for writing and 
for study, and the means of growth and culture which the 
case requires. And his acknowledged prose compositions 
of that period, to say nothing of the sonnets which he 
addressed to the Queen, or the masques which he wrote for 
her entertainment, exhibit all the necessary qualities of the 
poet. He was " a poetic imaginator," says George Darley, 
" and dramatic poets are (or ought to be) philosophers." 1 
Even Macaulay admitted that " the poetical faculty was 
( powerful in Bacon's mind ; but not, like his wit, so power- 
ful as occasionally to usurp the place of his reason." 2 

As early as 1610, Shakespeare, having some time before 
ceased to play his part as an actor upon the stage, had re- 
tired from the theatres in London, and resumed his perma- 
nent residence in Stratford-on-Avon. He is not known to 
have had any further connection with the stage. But in 
1611 were produced the "Winter's Tale" and the " Tem- 
j pest." The " Lear " was first performed before the King 

1 Introd. to Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, by George Darley. 

2 Misc., II. 408. 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 65 

at Whitehall, in 1606, and the " Troilus and Cressida," in , 
1609 ; and the first notice that we have of the " Tempest" ; 
is, that it was performed before the King's Majesty at 
Whitehall, in November, 1611 ; and the "Winter's Tale," 
first acted at the Globe, in May, 1611, was performed be- 
fore the King at Whitehall, a few days after the " Tem- 
pest." Both were repeated at Court during the festivities! 
attending the nuptials of the Princess Elizabeth and the 
Elector Palatine, toward the close of the year 1612, and in I 
the spring of 1613. And on the thirtieth day of June fol- 
lowing, and while these festivities were still proceeding, as 
it appears, the magnificent play of " Henry VIII." was for = 
the first time produced in great splendor at the Globe, with € t 
the presence (if not the assistance) of Ben Jonson (Shake- 
speare having retired from London), containing a studied 
and special compliment to King James. On the twenty- 
seventh of October, thereafterwards, Sir Francis Bacon,. 
Solicitor-General, having sometime before " come with his 
pitcher to Jacob's well, as others did," and obtained " the 
t royal promise to succeed to the higher place," is raised to 
| the laborious and lucrative position of Attorney- General, 
\ and the plays cease to appear. William Shakespeare con- 
^ tinues, a few years longer, to enjoy the social comforts of 
New Place, prosecuting at leisure his agricultural pursuits 
and miscellaneous traffic, and dies in April, 1616, leaving 
a handsome estate and a will. 

§ 9. THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

Seven years after the death of Shakespeare, these last- 
ing memorials of the most transcendent genius were gath- 
ered up from the play-houses in London (as it would seem) 
by his surviving fellows, Heming and Condell, who appear 
to have assumed the function of editors ; and they were 
published in the Folio of 1623, as they say in the preface, 
from u the true original Copies." What and whence were 
these true original copies ? Let us consider of this. As 



66 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

early as 1589, commissioners were appointed by the Queen 
to revise stage-plays; and after 1594, they had to be li- 
censed and entered at Stationers' Hall, before they could 
be printed, being prohibited, " except they bee allowed by 
such as have auctoritye." Nevertheless, some may have 
been printed without license. Before 1600, theatres had 
become so numerous and disorderly that all but two, the 
Globe and the Fortune, were suppressed by public order. 
Plays sold to a theatre were kept for its own exclusive 
use, and when they got abroad, as sometimes they did, 
through surreptitious copies, or when they found their way 
into the hands of the printers, other theatres, on appeal 
to the authorities, were prohibited from acting them.. It 
appears by the entries in the Register of the Stationers' 
Company, that the publishers of plays claimed a right of 
property in the copy, which was considered assignable ; 
and when the Folio of 1623 was published by Jaggard and 
Blount, an entry was made at Stationers' Hall of the six- 
teen plays which had not been printed before, by their 
titles, as of " soe many of the said Copies as are not for- 
merly entered to other men," and these sixteen were as- 
signed by Jaggard and Blount, in 1630, to one of the pub- 
lishers of the Folio of 1632. But how the publishers of 
the first Folio had acquired the copyright of the rest of the 
plays from those iC other men," does not appear : it is to be 
presumed they did so. It is probable that this right of 
property in the copy was not then so protected by law as to 
be a thing of much value, there being no effective remedy 
either at law or in equity : at least, none appears to have 
been sought in the courts. The chief object of this license 
and entry seems to have been to secure a strict censorship 
of the press ; a function that was exercised at first by com- 
missioners, and afterwards by the Master of the Revels. 
When a copy had been licensed to one publisher, a second 
license appears sometimes to have been granted to another, 
perhaps after a transfer of the copyright. The printing of 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 67 

books was held to be a matter of state, to be regulated by 
Star- Chamber decrees, letters-patent, commissions, and the 
ordinances " set down for the good government of the Sta- 
tioners' Company." And though some right of property in 
the copy may have existed at common law, none was ever 
distinctly recognized by any legislation, nor by any reported 
judicial decision before the year 1640 ; 1 but in 1637, a de- 
cree of the Star-Chamber prohibited the printing of any 
book or copy which the Stationers' Company, or any other 
person, had obtained the sole right to print, by entry in 
their Eegister ; whence it may be inferred that previous to 
that date this right had been but little respected. Never- 
theless, it will be borne in mind that this right of property 
in a book was called the copy in those days, whence the term 
copyright came into use in the law. None of these plays 
were ever entered in the name of William Shakespeare, as 
owner of the copy, but ail in the names of the several pub- 
lishers ; and there were different publishers of the several 
plays at dates not far apart. And after the publication of 
the Folio of 1623, there were, in like manner as before, 
separate entries of several of the plays for license to print 
by other publishers, at different dates. "Whence it may be 
inferred that no well-recognized copyright existed in any > 
owner of those plays, or that it was often and readily trans- } 
ferred ; and so, that the publishers of the Folio could have 
had but little difficulty in obtaining the copyright from 
those " other men," if indeed there were any at all. It is 
barely possible that this difficulty may have been the reason 
why the " Pericles " was not included in the Folio, though 
it may have been rejected by the Editor. 

We know from Blackstone that stage-plays unlicensed 
were liable to indictment as public nuisances, 2 and inas- 
much as they had to be licensed before they could be 
printed, it is certain that complete manuscripts must have J 

1 Curtis on Copyright, 26 ; 1 Eden on Inj., cxli. 

2 4 Comm., 168*! 



68 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

been furnished to the proper officer for examination. So 
Chettle said of Greene's " Groatsworth of Wit " : "I had 
only in the copy this share ; it was ill written, as sometime 
Greene's hand was none of the best ; licensed it must be 
ere it could be printed, which could never be if it might 
not be read." 1 

Now, as to the " six true and genuine copies " (spoken 
of by Capell), of which only some meagre first draughts 
had been printed in quarto, and the sixteen plays that were 
first printed in the Folio, if not, in fact, as to all of them, 
the true original copies could only mean the perfected 
manuscripts : it is plain they were not the quartos. And 
then the proposition must be, that the complete and fin- 
ished manuscripts were in the possession of these editors 
as managers of the theatre. They were not committed to 
I their charge by the will of Shakespeare, nor do they say 
anything in their preface of having received them from his 
executors. Of course, the author must have furnished a 
complete manuscript copy to the theatre, from which the 
separate parts for the use of the actors might be drawn off. 
The conjecture of Pope, upon a very superficial examina- 
tion, that the plays in the Folio were printed from such 
piecemeal parts, with all the interpolations, alterations, and 
mistakes of the actors, is effectually negatived by the more 
thorough studies and comparisons of later critics. No 
entry was made, nor any quarto printed, of any work of 
Shakespeare between 1609 and his death in 1616, but 
between this date and 1623 there were six reprints of 
quartos, besides the " Othello," of which the first quarto 
appeared in 1622. Whence came the manuscript of this 
" Othello " ? Was it furnished by the theatre, or by Hem- 
ing and Condell, or by the author himself? It appears, 
by an entry in the official accounts of the Revels at Court, 
that a play of the " Moor of Yenise " was acted before 
King James at Whitehall, on the first day of November, 
i-Kind Heart's Dream, (Halliwell, 146.) 



TIHE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 69 

1604, by "his Majesty's Servants"; but Mr. White has 
given some very good reasons for believing that this was 
an older play by another author, and probably founded 
upon Cmthio's novel called " The Moor of Venice," espec- 
ially as the names of Othello and Iago appear to have 
been taken from the " History of the Prince of Denmark," 
which was not printed until 1605, and that it was not the 
" Othello " of Shakespeare, which bears internal evidence 
of the matured hand of the master ; the composition of 
which he would place as late as 1611, or afterwards, mainly' 
on the ground that it contains an unmistakable allusion to 
the creation of the order of baronets, which took place in i 
that year, supported by the consideration of the rather 
extraordinary circumstance that it was not printed before 
1622, thirteen years having then elapsed since the last^, 
quarto of a new play had appeared, and when there were 
nineteen other plays, which had never been printed, and 
were known to the public only upon the stage ; that is, 
such of them as were known at all ; for, of some of them, 
as the " Coriolanus," the " Antony and Cleopatra," and the ) 
" Timon of Athens," there is no evidence that they had S 
ever appeared upon the stage, or were known to the public, J 
before they were printed in the Folio. This is, indeed, 
very remarkable ; and, taking Mr. White's opinion to be 
w 7 ell founded, since Mr. Collier's entry of the " Othello " in * 
the Egerton Papers of the date of 1602 has been clearly 4 
shown to be a downright forgery, there remains on record 
no notice whatever of this " Othello " until it was entered 
at Stationers' Hall in October, 1621. But that this play 
should have made its first appearance at Court as so many 
others did, or even at the house of the Lord Keeper Eger- 
ton, a friend of Sir Francis Bacon, need not be considered 
as anything extraordinary in itself, and that it had not 
fallen into the hands of the printers before 1622, though it 
had been upon the stage some years before that date, Rich- 
ard Burbage, who died in 1619, having been famous in the 



70 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

character of Othello, may be considered less surprising, 
when it is remembered that the same is true of several 
other of the later and greater plays of this author. 1 

The previous quartos may be considered under three 
heads : first draughts, surreptitious editions of stolen copies, 
and completed plays. Of some of these first draughts and 
surreptitious copies, the completed and perfected plays 
appeared for the first time in the Folio of 1G23 ; of others 
of them, as the " Hamlet " for instance, we have quartos 
nearly complete before 1604 ; and of nineteen of the plays, 
the first known editions are in the Folio. And of those 
which had previously appeared in quarto, it is found that 
some of them had been remodelled and rewritten, that 
others had undergone extensive revision, with important 
additions, alterations, omissions, and emendations, and that 
nearly all of them had received such critical correction and 
emendation as necessarily to imply that they were made by 
the hand of the master himself. The " Othello " of the 
Folio was printed at about the same time as the quarto, 
and, as Mr. Knight thinks, was probably struck off before 
it, but from the original manuscript without reference to 
the quarto ; Mr. White agrees that it was printed from 
another and an improved text ; and it is regularly divided 
into acts and scenes, while the quarto is not, and contains 
one hundred and sixty-three lines, the most striking in the 
play, which are not found in the quarto, while the quarto 
does not contain ten lines which are not in the Folio ; 2 and 
both these critics agree that the additions and corrections 
are of such a nature as to indicate the agency of the 
author's own hand, as in the case of the " Hamlet," the 
" Lear," the " Richard II.," the " Richard III.," the " Henry 
IV.," and, indeed, of nearly all the plays. Now, whence 
this difference in the manuscript copy ? 

According to Mr. White, the "Love's Labor's Lost" of 

1 White's Shakes., XL 362-4. 

2 Knight's Stud, of Shakes. ; White's Shakes., XI. 3G0-4. 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 71 

the Folio corrects a great many more errors than it makes, 
and has variations which must have come from some other 
source than the previous quarto. The " Henry V." of the 
Folio contains nineteen hundred lines more than the quarto 
of 1G00, and, according to Mr. Knight is not only aug- 
mented by the addition of new scenes and characters, but 
there is scarcely a speech which is not elaborated. The 
" Merry Wives of Windsor " in the Folio contains nearly", 
double the number of lines that are found in the quarto of 
1602, and it is greatly remodelled, whole scenes rewritten, 
speeches elaborated and emended, and characters height- ; 
ened by the addition of new and distinctive features. Slen- 
der is a small affair in the quarto, and Shallow a different 
person altogether in the Folio. The u Titus Andronicus " 
appears in the Folio with a whole new scene added, and 
the " Much Ado About Nothing " in the Folio, according 
to White, has important corrections of a nature to indicate 
that they were made by authority ; and it is greatly supe- 
rior to the quarto in respect of editorial supervision. The ] 
" Lear " of the Folio, as compared with the quarto of 
1608, contains large additions, corrections, and omissions. 
Some fifty lines of the Folio are not found in the quarto, 
and some two hundred and twenty-five lines of the quarto, 
comprising one whole scene and some striking passages, 
are omitted in the Folio. The omissions can no more be 
attributed to Ileming and Condell than the additions, 
which, says Knight, " comprise several such minute touches 
as none but the hand of the master could have super- 
added." l The "Tempest," the "Winter's Tale," the 
" Measure for Measure," the " Cymbeline," the " Midsum- 
mer Night's Dream," the "Henry VIII.," the "Julius Cae- 
sar," the " Lear," the " Troilus and Cressida," and the " An- 1 
tony and Cleopatra," (according to both Knight and White), 
are among those which are printed with singular correctness 
in the Folio, some of them even to the niceties of punctua- 
1 Stud, of Shakes., 337. 



72 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

f tion, furnishing the most decisive evidence of unusual care 
in the supervision of the press ; while some few others 
appear to have bad but little attention from editor or proof- 
reader. But here is enough, without dwelling further upon 
particular instances, to warrant the conclusion, not merely 
that the Folio of 1623 must be taken as the most authentic 
edition of the plays that we have, but that it had an edito- 
rial revision, as compared with all previous editions, far 
beyond anything that can safely be imagined for Heming 
and Condell. Indeed, as to the greater part of the correc- 
tions and all the additions and principal emendations, they 
can only be attributed, as they have been, to the author 
himself. And then the proposition for William Shake- 
speare must be, that they were all made before his death, 
if not before he retired from London ; and this (it is per- 
haps conceivably possible) he might have done as easily as 
he could write the " Tempest," the " Winter's Tale," and 
the "Henry VIIL," between 1610 and 1613, and the 
"Othello" before 1616. But the theory also requires us 
to believe that he furnished the new and amended manu- 
script copies to the theatre, which were " the true original 
copies" in the hands of Heming and Condell, seven years 
later, the " Othello " inclusive. Having no regard for his 
reputation nnd fame as an author, why should he take all 
this trouble and pains merely for the benefit of the theatres 
which he had left ? Or, having such regard, why should 
he wholly neglect to collect and publish them himself? Or 
if prevented by death, how should he fail to make any pro- 

- vision for their preservation and publication afterwards? 
And finally, having furnished to the theatre the finished 
manuscript of the " Othello," before 1616, how should there 
be such a difference between the quarto and the folio, when 
the manuscript for both must have come from the theatre, 
if not from the hands of Heming and Condell ? And, in 
either case, how should an old and imperfect copy have 
been put into the hands of the printer, when the complete 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 73 

and perfect manuscript had been in the actual use of the 
theatre for more than seven years ! 

But if the real author were still living to make these 
revisions himself, the whole mystery would be explained, 
and especially this enigma of the " Othello," which so much 
requires explanation ; and the comparison of a single pas- 
sage like the following is almost enough of itself to raise a 
strong suspicion that the fact was so. In the first scene of 
the second act, we find this expression — 

" the thought whereof 

Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards " : — 

and these lines, not found in the quarto of 1622, were 
inserted in the speech of Brabantio (Act I. Sc. 2) in the 
Folio: 1 — 

" Judge me the world, if 't is not gross in sense, 
That thou hast practised on her with foul charms; 
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals, 
That waken motion. — I '11 have 't disputed on; 
'T is probable, and palpable to thinking." 

All this is in exact keeping with Bacon's ideas of " mineral 
medicines," that were " safer for the outward than inward 
parts," and of the effects which they may produce ; as in 
a speech he uses the figure of ik a certain violent and min- 
eral spirit of bitterness." 

It is possible, too, to suppose that these improved orig- 
inal manuscripts may have passed from the theatre into the 
hands of Heming and Condell ; that they were submitted 
to the Master of the Revels for license and then placed irr 
the hands of the printers ; and that, being superseded in 
the use of the stage by the printed plays, they may have 
finally gone to destruction ; but it is extremely difficult, as ] 
Mr. Halliwell observes, to account for their total disappear- ; 
ance. And it is certainly a little remarkable, that neither 
these editors, who took the pains to collect and publish 
ihese works, should have preserved a single manuscript as 
l White's Shakes., XL, Notes, 494. 



74 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

a memorial of their departed fellow, nor any member of his 

\ family, as a memento in his own handwriting of so distin 

j guished a poet, their ancestor ; and that not a single paper 

] of his writing should have been handed down within the 

reach of any tradition. But nothing definite can be 

founded on an argument of this kind. 

On the other hand, taking Francis Bacon for the author, 
we may suppose that the original manuscript copies would 
be kept a secret of his private cabinet ; and that transcripts 
only in the handwriting of William Shakespeare would 
come to the knowledge of the players. The remark that 
he never blotted out a line would seem to imply that the 
manuscripts which they saw were in his handwriting, with 
which they must have been acquainted. After his death, 
it would become necessary for the real author to find some 
other cover for the purpose of publication. His fellow- 
actors, Heming and Condell, might be selected to stand in 
his place as ostensible editors. Little more would be re- 
quired than the use of their names. The dedication and 
preface would be written by the author himself: they have 
been supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson. The 
~ proof-sheets could be privately sent to his chambers in 
Bedford House, or in Gray's Inn, or the matter of proof- 
reading may have been left to the printer. All this would 
imply that Heming and Condell became parties to the 
secret ; in such case, they would feel no interest in the 
manuscripts ; and the arrangement with them must have 
been made, if at all, as early as 1622, or soon after the 
date of Bacon's fall from the woolsack and his banishment 
to his books and private studies at Gorhambury, Bedford 
House, and Gray's Inn. The original manuscripts, of 
course, Bacon would take care to destroy, if determined 
that the secret should die with him. 

We know from Bacon's will, that he directed his servant, 
Henry Percy, to deliver to his brother, Sir John Constable, 
all his manuscript compositions and fragments, to be pub- 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 75 

lished as he might see fit, taking " the advice of Mr. Selden 
and Mr. Herbert of the Inner Temple," and also desired 
his brother Constable and Sir William Boswell, presently 
after his decease, to take into their hands all his papers 
whatsoever, " which are either in cabinets, boxes, or presses, 
and them to seal up until they may at their leisure peruse 
them." 1 It would seem probable that all these manuscripts 
and papers remained locked up for some fourteen months 
after his death, when letters of administration were granted 
to Sir Thomas Rich and Mr. Thomas Meautys, and that 
afterwards the greater part (at least) of the manuscripts 
came into the custody of Dr. Rawley, his former chaplain 
and secretary ; though some of them appear to have been 
carried to Holland by Sir William Boswell, and placed in 
the hands of Isaac Gruter, who published a part of them 
at Amsterdam in 1653. Gruter's preface mentions certain 
moral and political pieces which were not published by himl 
and which, according to Mr. Spedding,' 2 remain to be ac- 
counted for, unless they were transferred to Dr. Rawley to 
be included in the Opuscula of 1658. As late as 1652-5, 
certain letters of Isaac Gruter state that there still remained, 
in the cabinet of Dr. Rawley, other manuscripts of the , 
" Verulamian workmanship," which, being " committed to 7 
faithful privacy," were as yet 4i denied to the public." The 
actual character of these writings is not stated, but, from 
the whole tenor of the correspondence and the relations of 
the parties, it may be distinctly gathered that they were 
fragments of a philosophical, political, or moral nature in 
prose. There appears to be no ground whatever for any 
inference beyond this. Had the manuscripts of these plays 
been left in existence by Bacon, it is scarcely conceivable 
that we should never have heard of them, and that they 
should even have escaped the late thorough research of 
Mr. Spedding. He must have destroyed them before his 

1 Baconiana, 203: Craik's Bicon, 223. 

2 Preface, Works (Boston), V. 187-195. 



76 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

death, if this theory be true : any other supposition would 
seem to be wholly inadmissible. Why he should desire 
such a secret to be buried with him, may be considered in 
another place : at present, we must take the fact to be so. 

On the whole, nothing is made to appear, out of this 
critical comparison of copies and this modern research into 
the history of the Folio, necessarily to exclude, or essen- 
tially to contradict, the hypothesis, that this Folio may 
have been published at the secret instance and tinder the 
general direction of Lord Bacon himself; though it must 
be confessed that greater negligence would seem to be ex- 
hibited in some parts of it than is consistent with our ideas, 
at this day, of that particular and especial care, which the 
exquisite taste and personal feeling of such an author 
would lead us to expect in such a work. The credit due 
to the Folio for authenticity must be increased in the same 
degree that it is rendered probable that it was printed in 
this manner ; and it is very certain that Lord Bacon was 
exclusively engaged, at this very time, in contemplations 
and studies in close retirement, continuing his philosophical 
labors, completing his instaurations of all science, and care- 
Tully preparing for the press new and improved editions of 
w T orks already published. He was thus sedulously endeav- 
oring to put a fitting close to the labors of his life by care- 
fully transmitting to posterity what he deemed worthy of 
preservation. 

About the 22d of June, 1621, at the King's direction, he 
retired to his country-seat at Gorhambury, where he re- 
mained until sometime in the summer of 1622. On the 
1st of September, 1621, he writes thus to Buckingham: — 
" I am much fallen in love with a private life ; but yet I 
shall so spend my time as shall not decay my abilities for 
use." * In another letter from Gorhambury, dated Febru- 
ary 3d, 1621-2, 2 he expresses a desire to get back to Lon- 

i Letter, Works (Philad.), III. 135. 

2 It will be borne in mind that the year began, in those days, on the 25th 
of March, and not as now on the 1st day of January. Letter to Bucking- 
ham, Works (Philad.), III. 141. 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 77 

don, where, as he says, " I could have helps at hand for my 
writings and studies, wherein I spend my time." In a 
memorandum made for an expected interview with the 
King, sometime in 1622, he writes thus: — "My story is 
proved : I may thank your Majesty; for I heard him note 
of Tasso, that he could know which poem he made when 
he was in good condition, and which when he was a beg- 
gar : I doubt he could make no such observation of me." 
Perhaps not, your lordship. During the autumn of 1622, 
his letters are dated from Bedford House, in London, and 
by the 8th of March, 1623, he had returned to his old 
lodgings in Gray's Inn. In a letter dated thence, March 
22, 1622-3, he says : — " Myself for quiet and the better to 
hold out, am retired to Gray's Inn ; for when my chief 
friends were gone so far off, it was time for me to go to a 
cell." 1 So Prospero, thrust from his dukedom, is again 
" master of a full poor cell," where, 

" neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate 
To closeness," 

he is " wrapt in secret studies " : — (Tempest, Act L Sc. 2.) 

M This cejl 's my court : here have I few attendants, 
And subjects none abroad: pray you look in." — lb. Act V. Sc. 1. 

And in June, 1623, he writes to Mr. Tobie Matthew: — 
" It is true my labors are now most set to have those works 
I had formerly published, as that of Advancement of Learn- 
ing, that of Henry VIL, that of the Essays, being retract- 
ate, and made more perfect, well translated into Latin by 
the help of some good pens, which forsake me not." 2 Of 
these " good pens " Ben Jonson was one, and George 
Herbert another. Again, in 1623, he writes to Prince 
Charles : — " For Henry the VIII., to deal plainly with 
your highness, I did despair of my health this summer, as 
I was glad to choose some such work as I might compass 
within days ; so far was I from entering into a work of 

1 Letter to Cottington, Works (Mont.), XII. 439; (Philad.), III. 148. 

2 Letter, Works (Philad.), III. 151. 



78 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

length It began like a fable of the poets ; but it 

deserve th all in a piece a worthy narration." 1 In the thick 
crowding exigencies of this time, and in the long list of 
works given to the world during the five years next preced- 
ing his death, some explanation may be found, if it be 
required, for a somewhat negligent correction of the press, 
when <; these trifles " were in question. 

Steevens and others have thought they could discover in 
the Dedication and Preface to the Folio some traces of the 
hand of Ben Jonson. But surely with more reason it may 
be said, that in the thought, style, and diction of both, there 
is exhibited the very soul of the real Shakespeare himself; 
as it were, ex pede Herculem. True, the story of the players 
in commendation of Shakespeare, that he never blotted out 
a line (" there never was a more groundless report," says 
Pope), is repeated in the Preface. But it is known that 
Ben Jonson was an intimate friend and great admirer of 
Bacon, and so fine a joke as this must have been for him 
would not fail to impress the mind of Bacon as well ; for, 
as Ben Jonson tells us, he could with difficulty " spare or 
pass by a jest." Jonson also writes of " my gentle Shake- 
speare," — 

" that he 

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, 
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 
Upon the Muses an vile." 

And so, according to the Dedication and Preface, " Mr. 
William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies " 
he would see published from "the true original copies 
(which he would know to be such), and dedicated to that 
" Most Noble and Incomparable Paire of Brethren," the 
Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery, patrons of learning 
and of the theatre, his particular friends, before he also 
should take his departure, and not have " the fate to be 
executor of his own writings," though he could not " but 
i Letter, Ibid. 152-3. 



THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 79 

know their dignity greater than to descend to the read- 
ing of these trifles." But the " Orphanes " should have 
" Guardians, without ambition either of selfe-profit or fame : 
onely to keep the memory of so worthy a Friend and Fel- 
low alive as was our Shakespeare." These plays had "had 
their triall alreadie, and stood out all Appeales," and they 
should " now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of 
Court than any purchased Letters of commendation " (exe- 
cutors, orphans, guardians, trials, appeals, and decrees of 
court were now ready on the tongue of the ex-chancellor), 
" cured and perfect of their limbes ; and all the rest, ab- 
solute in their numbers as he conceived them " (what no 
one could better certify, u quam historiam legitimam et o?n- 
nibus numeris suis absolutam " 1 ) ; for he was " a happie 
imitator of Nature " (whereof the great " interpreter of 
Nature" might be sensible), and " a most gentle expresser 
of it. What he thought he uttered with that easinesse 
that wee have scarce received a blot in his papers " (what 
he could not spare to mention), and "his wit could no more 
lie hid than it could be lost " (as witness these records of 
it, which should not perish). He was to be read •• againe 
and againe ; for if then you do not like him, surely you are 
in some manifest danger not to understand him." So 
Heming and Condell would " leave you to other of his 
Friends, whom, if you need, can be your guides ; if you 
need them not, you can leade yourselves and others ; and 
such readers " they wished him. 

Indeed it is altogether such a dedication and preface as 
might be expected from this " Jupiter in a thatch'd house," 
this secret inquisitor of nature, learning, and art; who in his 
youth had taken " all knowledge to be his province " ; whose 
t; vast contemplative ends " had embraced " the image of 
the universal world " ; but who, in respect of these trifles, 
still preferred to die with his mask on. And such readers 
would he wish to have, who knew the danger, perhaps felt 
l De Aug. Sclent, L. II. c. 5., WorJcs (Boston), II. 202. 



80 THE TRUE ORIGINAL COPIES. 

the certainty, that his own age would not fully understand 
him ; but he would take care that these same trifles should 
be secured to the possession of those " next ages " which 
might be able to comprehend him aright. And he has left 
us also, perhaps unwittingly, the guides to the knowledge 
of who as well as what this " our Shakespeare " was ; 

though 

< " As one that had been studied in his death, 
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, 
As 't were a careless trifle " : — Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 4. 

or, as he himself says of Aristotle, " as one that had been 
a challenger of all the world, and raised infinite contradic- 
tion ; " * or as one that had been about to leave the shores 
of earth, and had cast a lingering look behind upon a thing 
known to be " immortal as himself" ; as the sonnet sings : 

11 If my dear love were but the child of state, 

It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'd, 

As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate, 

Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. 

No, it was builded far from accident, 

It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 

Under the blow of thralled discontent, 

Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls: 

It fears not policy, that Heretic, 

Which works on leases of short number' d hours, 

But all alone stands hugely politic, 

That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. 
To this I witness call the fools of time, 
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime." 

Sonnet cxxiv. 2 

1 Works (Boston), XII. 284. 

2 Shakes. Sonnets, (Fac-simile of the ed. of 1609, entitled " Shake-speares 
Sonnets: Never before Imprinted,") London, 1862. 



CHAPTER H. 

PRELIMINARIES. — BACON. 

" Thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on." — Mid. N. i?r., II. 2. 

§ 1. CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

In the outset of the inquiry, the contemporaneousness 
of the two men between whom the question in hand is sup- 
posed to lie, the comparative dates of their several works, 
and the leading facts and events of their lives, must come 
under special consideration, though briefly, as fundamental 
and very important. The general impression that has pre- 
vailed hitherto, or until very lately, respecting the character 
and genius of Lord Bacon and the scope of his philoso- 
phy, has been, and is, of itself, a huge stumbling-block in 
the way of the proposition that he could ever have been a 
poet at all. A more thorough study of the subject, under 
the light of judicious criticism, will effectually dispel this 
cloud of error. For the most part, all true notion of the 
man has been obscured in a murky atmosphere of political 
obfuscation, a kind of scientific haze, misunderstanding, 
misconception, and stupid mistake. Concerning him, as of 
many other men and things in the times long past, human 
villanies have been written into the semblance of illustri- 
ous history, wherein vice is put on a par with virtue, and 
the highest virtue below the par of vice ; in which soaring 
intellect is subordinated to common-place ability, imagina- 
tion held to be a species of folly or insanity, and metaphys- 
ics treated as synonymous with moonshine ; in which books 
are rated as fit food for worms, and to be " drowned in 



82 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

book-learning " is incontinently reckoned as a disqualifica- 
tion for the duties of life, whilst a certain overplus of com- 
mon sense is supposed to be cajjable of all that is great or 
good ; in which much learning is deemed worse than use- 
less, philosophy a monomania or a crime, all poets vagrants, 
and the summum bonum no more nor less than Lord Coke's 
industrious money-getting chief end of man. 1 This inade- 
quate and altogether unsatisfactory account of the matter 
had its origin in the confusions of a tyrannical reign, in a 
court and time as corrupt as anything that is to be found 
in the Italian or the later Roman story, and in the general 
ignorance in an age that was on the whole very dark, 
though some bright stars twinkled in the firmament of it ; 
and it has been continued through the succeeding ages, 
which have been growing only less and less dark, down 
to our times. Basil Montagu's meagre sketch of Bacon's 
life began to throw some light into these scarcely penetra- 
ble obscurations. Lord Campbell's superficial view of the 
great Chancellor, 2 not attempting to get clear of the fogs, 
and taking Pope's epigram for basis and text, makes one 
half of his life and character as brilliant as sunlight, and the 
other as black as Erebus, and is, on the whole, more of a 
libel than a life. The diligent researches, however, of later 
scholars have given to the world an excellent and reliable 
edition of Lord Bacon's Works, and brought forth many new 
and interesting data concerning him, which may be said to 
bear the stamp of historic truth. 3 The " Personal History " 
and the " Story 9 ' of Mr. Dixon, 4 and the "Letters and Life" 
by Mr. Speclding, in a more complete detail of dates, rec- 
ords, facts, and circumstances, with due reverence for the 
genius end character of their hero, and in much nearer sym- 

i Campbell's Lives of the Chief Jus. (Philad., 1851), I. 279. 

2 Lives of the Lord Chan. (Philad., 1851), II. 

3 Bacon's Works, by Spedding, Ellis, and Heath, Boston, 1860-1864; Let- 
ters and Life of Francis Bacon, by James Spedding, London, 1861-2. 

4 Personal History of Lord Bacon, Boston, 1861 ; Story of Lord Bacon's 
fcife, London, 1862 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 83 

pathy with the true nature and quality of the man, have pre- 
sented the great English orator, jurist, statesman, and phil- 
osopher, in a very new light ; but even these come far short 
of exhibiting a full and adequate picture of the learning, 
philosophy, purposes, and scope of this " learned Magician. 5 ' 
Macaulay * could see nothing in him but a certain physical 
science of practical fruit ; Delia Bacon 2 discovered in him 
a great deal more than Macaulay ; Emerson, 3 more, per- 
haps, than Delia Bacon, finding that he ascended to the 
spring-head of all science ; and Prof. Craik is certainly not 
so very far wrong when he says : " Bacon belongs not to 
mathematical or natural science, but to literature and to 
moral science in its most extensive acceptation — to the 
realm of imagination, of wit, of eloquence, of aesthetics, of 
history, of jurisprudence, of political philosophy, of logic, 
of metaphysics, and the investigation of the powers and 
operations of the human mind," 4 and (as he might have 
added) " the order, operation, and Mind of Nature." 5 

Francis Bacon, son of the Lord-Keeper, Sir Nicholas 
Bacon, was born at York House in London, on the 22d day 
of January, 1561, and so was three years and three months 
older than William Shakespeare. In the thirteenth year 
of his age, he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, and in 
1577, after enrolling his name at Gray's Inn for the sake 
of " ancienty," went with Sir Amias Paulet to the Court of 
Paris, where he remained until 1579, when, his father hav- 
ing suddenly died before having made such ample provi- 
sion for this youngest son, as he had intended in due time, 
he was induced to return home, and began his terms at 
Gray's Inn, in June of that year, seeing now no better pros- 
pect before him than the profession of the law, with some 

1 Essay on Bacon. 

* Phil, of Shaks. Plays Unfolded, Boston, 1857. 
3 Representative Men. 

4 Hist, of Eng. Lit. and Language, by George L. Craik, LL. D. (New 
Fork, 1862,) I. 615. 
5 Novum Organum. 



84 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

hope of preferment in the state; and on the 27th of June, 
1582, he was called to the Utter Bar at the age of twenty- 
one. "While in Paris, we may presume he had made him- 
self master of the French language, and probably of the 
Italian and Spanish also, if not before, besides superadding 
to the manners of the English Court something of the 
polish of the French. On his return home, he was charged 
with bearing a diplomatic despatch to the virgin Queen, in 
which he was mentioned as " of great hope, and endued 
with many good and singular parts." In 1584, with the 
help of his uncle, Lord Burleigh, he is elected to Parlia- 
ment for two boroughs, and, not much later, ventures to 
undertake a " Letter of Advice to Queen Elizabeth ; " but 
in 1586, he is still living, "as it were, in umbra, and not 
in public or frequent action," and his bashful nature and 
studious seclusion are mistaken to his prejudice for pride 
and arrogance. 1 In 1587, when William Shakespeare is 
said to have come to London, Francis Bacon has become 
a Bencher, and sits at the Reader's table, in Gray's Inn, 
and, at the Christmas Pevels of that year, he assists the 
Gentlemen of his Inn in getting up the tragedy of the 
" Misfortunes of Arthur," and certain masques and dumb- 
shows, for which he writes, at least, some "additional 
speeches," to be exhibited before the Queen at Green- 
wich, 2 while William Shakespeare is yet but a mere " ser- 
vitor" at the Blackfriars, and still unsuspected of being 
the author of anything. In 1588-9, he is a member of 
Parliament for Liverpool, having already acquired an as- 
cendency as an orator in the House of Commons, and 
writes a paper on Church Controversies, and a draft of a 
letter for Secretary Walsingham on the conduct of the 
Queen's government towards Papists and Dissenters, under 
the supervision of the Archbishop, his old tutor at Cam- 
bridge. About the year 1590, he makes the acquaintance 

1 Spedding's Letters and Life, I. 59. 

2 Collier's Hist. Dram. Poetry, I. 267; Knight's Biog. of Shakes., 326. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 85 

of the rising young Earl of Essex, also a Cambridge 
scholar, whose literary abilities, varied accomplishments, 
comprehensive views, and love for the liberal arts, were 
much in accord with his own. He pursues his studies at 
Gray's Inn, making an occasional visit to his mother's 
country-seat of Gorhambury, and for the vacations and 
greater intervals of leisure from Law and the Court, he 
has his retired and comfortable lodge at Twickenham Park, 
an estate of his brother Edward, delightfully situated on 
the Thames, near Twickenham (a place afterwards famous 
as the residence of Pope), where, as early as 1592, through 
the interest of his friend, the Earl of Essex, he has the 
honor of a visit from the Queen herself, and presents her 
with a Sonnet in compliment to that ''generous noble- 
man;" 1 and here also, in after years, the Queen honors 
him with her presence, on various occasions, and frequent 
opportunities occur of addressing other Sonnets to his 
sovereign mistress's eyebrow, though professing (as he 
says in parenthesis) " not to be a poet." His habits are 
regular, frugal, and temperate, and his life pure, but he 
lives like a gentleman, a scholar, a member of Parliament 
and a courtier ; and with comparatively little ready money 
and means rather in prospect than in possession, and with 
these expensive ways, he is at length compelled to get 
help from the Lombards and Jews. The Queen grants 
him the reversion of the Clerkship of the Star-Chamber, 
which, not coming into possession before 1608, was but 
as " another man's ground buttailing upon his house ; which 
might mend his prospect but did not fill his barn." With 
little professional business, and no promotion coming, he 
ventures to address a letter (1592) to Lord Burghley, " the 
Atlas of this commonwealth," as he styles him, the " hon- 
our" of his house, and " the second founder" of his "poor 
estate," in which he says : " I wax now somewhat ancient ; 
one-and-thirty years is a great deal of sand in the hour- 
i Nichols' Progresses of Q. EUz. (London, 1823), III. 190. 



86 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

glass. My health, I thank God, I find confirmed ; and I 
do not fear that action shall impair it, because I account 
my ordinary course of study and meditation to be more 
painful than most parts of action are. I ever bear a 
mind (in some middle place that I could discharge) to 
serve her Majesty; not as a man born under Sol, that 
loveth honour; nor under Jupiter, that loveth business, 
(for the contemplative planet carrieth me away wholly) ; 
but as a man born under an excellent Sovereign, that de- 
serveth the dedication of all men's abilities. . . Again the 
meanness of my estate doth somewhat move me ; for 
though I cannot accuse myself that I am either prodigal 
or slothful, yet my health is not to spend, nor my course 
to get. Lastly, I confess that I have as vast contemplative 
ends as I have moderate civil ends ; for I have taken 
all knowledge to be my province. . . This, whether it be 
curiosity, or vain glory, or nature, or (if one take it favor- 
ably) philanthropia, is so fixed in my mind as it cannot be 
removed. . . And if your Lordship will not carry me on, 
I will not do as Anaxagoras did, who reduced himself with 
contemplation to voluntary poverty ; but this I will do : 
I will sell the inheritance that I have, and purchase some 
lease of quick revenue, or some office of gain that shall be 
executed by deputy, and so give over all care of service, 
and become some sorry book-maker, or a true pioneer in 
that mine of truth which (he said) lay so deep." * Not 
far from this time were written the speeches in Praise of 
the Queen and in Praise of Knowledge, doubtless in- 
tended for a Masque to be exhibited before her upon some 
occasion of which there is no record, further than that on 
the celebration of the Queen's clay, in 1592, a Device was 
presented by Essex. 2 Not much later, we find him read- 
ing Virgil, Ovid, Horace, Seneca, the Psalms, the Prov- 
erbs, Erasmus' Adagia, and various French and Italian 
authors ; in short, taking a survey of all the ancient and 

1 Spedding's Letters and Life, I. 108. 2 JUd. I. 120. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 87 

modern learning, and making notes, abstracts, and a 
"Promus of Formularies and Elegancies." At the same 
time, Robert Greene discovers that a new poet has arisen, 
who is getting to be " the only Shake-scene in a countrey." 
He soon begins to be pestered with duns and Jews' bonds, 
and is " poor and sick, working for bread." His brother 
Anthony now occupies rooms in Gray's Inn, having re- 
turned in impaired health from his travels abroad, where 
he has even had a Papist in his service to the great horror 
of the good Lady Ann, his mother, a fiery, vehement, pious, 
grave, and affectionate soul, in creed a Calvinist, and in 
morals a Puritan of the stricter sect, who enjoins upon 
him to " use prayer twice in a day," and suggests that his 
brother Francis " is too negligent herein : " without relig- 
ion, there is little to be expected for either of them from 
the orthodox Lord Treasurer. The good mother also 
begins to observe that Francis is "continually sickly, . . 
by untimely going to bed, and then musing nescio quid 
when he should sleep." We get only an occasional glimpse 
of his private and secret studies, or of the exigencies that 
made them private. 

In the mean time, he has made the acquaintance of the 
theatre-going young lords and courtiers, Essex, Southamp- 
ton, Rutland, Montgomery, and the rest, and on the 18th 
of July, 1593, the Earl of Essex is on a visit of u three 
hours to Francis Bacon and his brother Anthony, at 
Twickenham Park," where he promises " to set up his 
whole rest of favour and credit " with the Queen for. u Mr. 
Francis Bacon's preferment before Mr. Edward Coke." 1 
He becomes attached to the party and service of the Earl 
of Essex, and is made his confidential friend, political 
counsellor, and legal adviser, in September following ; and 
at the same time, his brother Anthony becomes Essex's 
Secretary. The " Venus and Adonis " was entered at 
Stationers' Hall in April, 1593, and was printed in the 
l Nichols' Prog, of Q. Eliz., III. 190, n. (2). 



88 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

same year. The author (if it were Bacon) did not mean 
to profess to be a poet, and it is dedicated to the Earl of 
Southampton, under the name of William Shakespeare ; 
and the " Rape of Lucrece," entered in May, 1594, soon 
follows. Some eight or ten of the earlier plays are al- 
ready upon the stage, and are generally taken to be the 
work of William Shakespeare, though none of them have 
been as yet printed under his name ; but Greene and 
Chettle have uttered their sharp protest against the pre- 
tensions of this " upstart crow beautified with our feathers," 
denouncing him as " an absolute Johannes factotum " and 
"the only Shake-scene in a countrey." It is in August, 
1594, that we get some further insight into the more inti- 
mate relations of these theatre-loving associates, learning 
from the letters of Lady Ann Bacon, first made public by 
Mr. Dixon, that they are having plays performed at An- 
thony's house, near the Bull Inn, " very much to the de- 
light of Essex and his jovial crew " (of whom Southampton 
is, of course, one), but as the pious Lady Ann fears, "to 
the peril of her sons' souls;" for plays and novels are 
burnt privately by the Bishops, and publicly by the Puri- 
tans. 

In the beginning of 1593, Bacon made that celebrated 
speech on the Subsidy, which boldly sustained the privi- 
lege of Parliament, but defeated Burghley, and so deeply 
offended the Queen, that he was denied access at Court 
for the next three years ; though after much solicitation 
of his friends, and being too great a favorite with her 
Majesty to be wholly cast off, she had so far relented by 
the month of June, 1594, as to employ him as her counsel 
(yerbi reg. Eliz.) in some legal business. Nevertheless, 
Essex undertook to make good his engagement of his 
"whole rest of favour and credit" to secure his prefer- 
ment to the place of Attorney-General before " Mr. Ed- 
ward Coke." Cecil said it was useless to think of office, 
when he was denied access at the palace. Another ob- 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 89 

jection was, that he had had but little or no practice 
in the courts ; and to obviate this, he began to appear 
more frequently in court in the spring of 1594, arguing 
a number of causes with great learning and eloquence, 
so that Mr. Gosnold, who heard him, observing how he 
" spangled his speech " with " unusual words," was per- 
suaded that the " Bacon would be too hard for the Cook" ; 
but Coke, as Speaker of the House, had bowed to her 
Majesty's prerogative, taking care on nearly all occa- 
sions to give satisfaction, and not offence, and was made 
Attorney- General, the "Cook" proving too hard fop the 
Bacon. The Solicitorship still remained. Essex, Eger- 
ton, Burghley, Cecil, Greville, and a host of friends, con- 
tinued to press his suit for this " second place," from 
March, 1594, until November, 1595 ; but the Queen was 
in "no haste to determine of the place." Bacon, whose 
"nature can take no evil ply," having been " voiced with 
great expectation," and " with the wishes of most men 
to the higher place," cannot but conclude with himself 
" that no man ever read a more exquisite disgrace." - 1 He 
nearly resolves, " with this disgrace " of his fortune, to 
retire "with a couple of men to Cambridge," and there 
spend his life in "studies and contemplations, without 
looking back." Essex still presses the matter upon every 
opportunity. When the Queen visits him, she answers that 
" she did not come for that," and " stops his mouth ; " and 
when he visits her, she acknowledges he had a great wit, 
and an excellent gift of speech, and much other good 
learning, but in law she rather thought he could show to 
the uttermost of his knowledge, and was not deep ; and 
she shows " her mislike of the suit " as well as he his " af- 
fection in it," and thinks, " if there were a yielding, it was 

1 Letter to Essex (1594), Works (Mont.), XII. 170. Here I prefer the 
reading of Montagu. Mr. Spedding, taking the word read to be the abbre- 
viation rec'd, writes received; but it is more probably the same Baconian 
idiom, which appears again in the Henry VIII. thus: "and read the per- 
fect ways of honour." — Letters and Life, by Spedding, I. 291. 



90 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

fitter to be " of his side. 1 After July, however, he is em- 
ployed as Queen's counsel, but when the Solicitorship is 
named (says Essex), "she did fly the tilt," and would not 
see him. The unfortunate Subsidy Speech could not be 
forgiven, and the matter hangs for a long time undeter- 
mined. Bacon keeps his terms at Gray's Inn, but spends 
the greater part of his time at Twickenham Park, or at 
Essex's house, where he is rapt in secret studies and 
philosophic contemplations ; and at the same time, both 
Essex and himself are busy in all suitable ways, plying 
their arts to regain the Queen's favor. Though deeply 
in debt, at this time, Bacon offers her the present of a 
rich and costly jewel, which she declines to accept; thus, 
thinks Greville, almost pronouncing sentence of despair. 
In December, 1594, the Christmas Bevels at Gray's Inn 
come on. They are gotten up with extraordinary magnifi- 
cence, this year, and the whole Court are most sump- 
tuously and splendidly entertained with plays, masques, 
triumphs, and dumb shows. Lady Ann Bacon writes to 
Anthony, that she " trusts they will not mum, nor mask, 
nor sinfully revel" ; but Francis, as before in 1587, and on 
other later occasions, takes a leading part in the prepara- 
tions, writing a Masque, for one thing, which Mr. Sped- 
ding finds to be undoubtedly his work, and certain humor- 
ous Regulations for " the Heroical Order of the Helmet," 
and other pieces, which Mr. Spedding rather thinks not 
his work ; and upon this same occasion, the Shakespearean 
" Comedy of Errors " makes its first appearance upon any 
stage, pretty certainly also the work of Francis Bacon (as 
I will endeavor to show). In this year 1594, the " Titus 
Andronicus" is first entered at Stationers' Hall, and the 
second part of the " Henry VI." (then styled the " Con- 
tention of the Two Houses of York and Lancaster") is 
first printed, and the third part (then styled the "True 
Tragedy of the Duke of York") follows in 1595 ; but they 
had been written long before. 
1 Essex to Bacon. (18 May, 1594).— Letters and Life^y Spedding, 1. 297. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 91 

Bacon continues to be assiduously engaged with his 
public avocations and his private studies. Whether from 
the mortification of disappointment or the effect of mid- 
night musings when he should be asleep, the good mother 
observes, again, that " inward secret grief hindereth his 
health," and "''everybody saith he looks thin and pale." 
Moreover, when her ladyship is applied to for assistance 
in the way of meeting his pecuniary obligations, she breaks 
out furiously upon " that bloody Percy," and - that Jones," 
as "proud, profane, costly fellows, whose being about him," 
she verily believes, " the Lord God doth mislike." This 
was his servant Henry Percy, in whose charge he left his 
manuscripts by his will. The particular ground of Lady 
Ann's dislike of his men, more than that they were ex- 
pensive, does not appear; but she insinuates that "he hath 
nourished most sinful proud villains wilfully." 

During the year 1595, he lives for the most part in the 
shady retirement of Twickenham Park, amidst his books 
and flower-gardens, abandoning the Court altogether. At 
length he concludes that he was taking '-duty too exactly," 
and not "according to the dregs of this age," and fearing 
lest his unwonted seclusion should be interpreted to his 
prejudice at the palace, he addresses a letter to the Lord- 
Keeper Puckering, on the 25th of May, 1595, desiring him 
to apologize to her Majesty for the -nine days' wonder" 
of his absence ; for, as the letter proceeds, " it may be, 
when her Majesty hath tried others, she will think of him 
that she hath cast aside. For I will take it upon that 
which her Majesty hath often said, that she doth reserve 
me, and not reject me." 1 And in July, the Queen, as if 
to keep his courage up. or in recognition of his professional 
sendees, bestows on him the estate of Pitts ; but as to the 
Solicitorship, it is probable that the Cecils and the Lord- 
Keeper Puckering, having at their service any number of 
JBrograves, Branthwaytes, and black-letter Flemings, not 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, I. 360. 



92 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

connected with a rival party, have fixed all that, and she 
will hear no more of it. The jealousy of the Cecils, 01 
Essex, or the Subsidy Speech which Burghley thinks to 
be the chief difficulty, and which Bacon still justifies rather 
than retracts, finally mars all, and it is decided, at last, that 
Sergeant Fleming, whose best qualification seems to have 
been the negative one of standing in nobody's way, though 
admitted by Bacon himself not to be any such " insufficient 
obscure idole man," as that his appointment could justly be 
taken as a personal affront, shall be made Solicitor ; and 
again, " no man ever read a more exquisite disgrace " than 
Francis Bacon. He cannot refrain from uttering a little 
indignation against the Lord Keeper for " failing him and 
crossing him now in the conclusion, when friends are best 
tried " ; but he takes care to give no offence to the Queen. 
In October, he writes to the Lord Keeper again : " I am now 
at Twicknam Park, where I think to stay ; for her Majesty 
placing a Solicitor, my travail shall not need in her causes ; 
though whensoever her Majesty shall like to employ me in 
any particular, I shall be ready to do her willing service." * 
Again he is almost persuaded to abandon a public life, 
to sell his inheritance, to spend some time in travels 
abroad, and finally to become a sorry book-maker, or a 
pioneer in Anaxa'goras' deep mine. " For to be as I told 
you," he writes to Greville, " like a child following a bird, 
which when he is nearest flieth away and lighteth a little 
before, and then the child after it again, and so in infinitum, 
I am weary of it," — 

"Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 
Still losing when I saw myself to win." — Sonnet cxix. 

Among the objections urged against him, it was repre- 
sented that he was a man given to " speculations " rather 
than business, and that he had not devoted himself to the 
practice of law, and he himself believed that her Majesty's 
impression against him was due less to her remembrance of 
1 Letter (11 Oct. 1595); Letters and Life, by Spedding, I. 368. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 93 

bis Subsidy Speech than to " her conceit otherwise " of his 

" insufficiency : " 1 

" then no more remains 

But that, to your sufficiency, — as your worth is able, — 
And let them work." — Measure for Measure, Act I, Sc. 1. 

It is plain that his time and attention were mainly given 
to philosophical and literary studies. In this same letter 
he admits to Burghley, " It is true, my life hath been so 
private as I have had no means to do your Lordship ser- 
vice." And in October, again, he writes in a letter to 
Essex, touching this matter of his promotion in the State : 
A For means I value that most ; and the rather because I 
am purposed not to follow the practice of the law : (If her 
Majesty command me in any particular, I shall be ready to 
do her willing service :) and my reason is only, because it 
drinketh too much time, which I have dedicated to better 
purposes. But even for that point of estate and means, I 
partly lean to Thales' opinion, That a philosopher may be 
rich if he will! 1 ' 2 

On the 5th of November 1595, Fleming receives his 
commission as Solicitor - General, and, some twelve days 
afterwards, the Queen further solaces the disappointment 
of Bacon with the grant of the reversion of Twickenham 
Park itself. He becomes fully reconciled to her favor, and 
his hopes revive. During the same month, Essex prepares 
a magnificent entertainment for her Majesty at his own 
house, and Bacon writes a Masque for the occasion. It is 
not far from this time that Essex bestows upon Bacon, in 
requital of his friendship and his personal services, an es- 
tate worth £1800, including, says Nichols, " a highly orna- 
mented mansion, particularly celebrated for its pleasure- 
grounds, which were called the Garden of Paradise." 3 
And it was not long before this time that Southampton, 
according to a tradition handed down by Bowe from Sir 

i Letter* to Burghley (7 June, 1593) ; Letters and Life, by Spedding, 1. 362. 

2 Spedding's Letters and Life, I. 372. 

3 Prog. Q. EUz., III. 191. 



94 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

William Davenant, is said to have bestowed upon Shake- 
speare the munificent gift of £1000, which might (with 
Halliwell) be deemed almost incredible, unless (as Collier 
supposes) the money (whatever the sum) was in fact a con- 
tribution for the building of the Globe Theatre, which was 
erected in 1594. 

In 1596, the "Romeo and Juliet" appears, and the 
" King John " had been written, not long before this date. 
William Shakespeare had been for some time a sharer in 
the Globe and Blackfriars, and, as the traditions say, now 
kept his lodgings near the Bear Garden in Southwark. In 
the next year, he is able to purchase New Place at Strat- 
ford-on-Avon, and appears to have been quite extensively 
engaged in agricultural operations and various kinds of traf-' 
fie, while the " Eichard II.," the " Eichard III.," and the 
" Merchant of Venice," were getting ready for the stage. 
Bacon dedicates his " Maxims of the Law " to " Her Sa- 
cred Majesty," writes his Advice to Essex, and drafts for 
Essex the letters of Advice to Greville and to Eutland on 
his Travels. He is also regularly employed as Queen's 
Counsel, and, in the intervals of business in London, is dil- 
igently engaged " at Twicnam," on his " Colours of Good 
and Evil," and his " Meditationes Sacrae." His smaller 
works are the " recreations " of his other studies, and, as 
we learn from his letter to Mountjoy, it is now " his man- 
ner and rule to keep state in contemplative matters." 1 The 
first edition of the Essays, which had strayed from their 
master in manuscript, and were in danger of falling into 
the hands of the printers, is published by himself early in 
1597, in anticipation of surreptitious copies ; but scarcely 
two years later, a collection of sonnets and minor poems, 
which appear to have strayed in like manner from their 
author, did happen to come into the hands of Jaggard, 
afterwards printer of the Essays, and got surreptitiously 

1 Spedding's Preface to the Colours of Good and Evil, Works (Boston), 
Xni. 262. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 95 

printed, as it would seem. Though now encouraged by the 
increasing favor of the Queen and his successes in Parlia- 
ment (in which he has become a powerful leader), he is still 
troubled on account of " the meanness " of his estate ; and 
his biographers suggest that it was for this reason, among 
others, that he sought the hand of the rich and beautiful 
Lady Hatton, now a lovely young widow, and a daughter 
of Sir Thomas Cecil, eldest son of Lord Burghley ; but the 
Cecils were still awake, and more set upon advancing a 
serviceable instrument of their own party than the friend 
and counsellor of Essex, who, if too far promoted in this 
direction, might at length rival the pretensions of his 
cousin, Sir Robert Cecil, to the higher places in the state, 
and they prevailed on the young lady, much against her 
own inclination, to marry the crabbed Attorney-General 
Coke, a widower of forty-six, with a large practice, an im- 
mense fortune, and perhaps more than the eleven objec- 
tions, ten children and himself, — 

" Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? 
"Was ever woman in this humour won? " 

Packard HI, Act L Sc. 2. 

Between 1596 and 1600, the "Richard II.." the "Rich- 
ard IIL," the "Merchant of Venice," the -Much Ado 
About Nothing," the two parts of the " Henry IV.," the 
" Henry V.," and the " Merry Wives of Windsor," make 
their appearance upon the stage ; and it is no wonder, per- 
haps, that we find it recorded in the history of the time, 
that Southampton, Rutland, and the rest of Essex's jovial 
crew, " pass away their time in London merely in going to 
plays every day." But Bacon himself, though his published 
works were gaining for him an eminent reputation at home 
and abroad, and his practice at the bar was increasing, and 
his prospects brightening, had the misfortune still to be 
arrested for debt by " the Lombard " ; and he was actually 
" confined in a spunging-house " (according to the taunt of 
Coke), before he could get out of the Shylock's clutches. 



96 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

At the same time, he is making eloquent speeches in Par- 
liament, and carrying bills for " the increase of husbandry 
and tillage " and " the increase of people " ; and the Queen 
acknowledges his public services, and signifies her continu- 
ing personal favor by making him a liberal grant of the 
Rectory and Church of Cheltenham and the Chapel of 
Charlton Kings, with the lands and revenues thereto be- 
longing. 

Now comes on the affair of Ireland and the Essex 
treason. As early as 1597, Essex, receiving from Bacon 
wiser counsel than he liked, touching his military ambition 
and his sinister courses, ceases to come to Gray's Inn for 
advice ; but takes to the Jesuits and the scheme of going 
to Ireland, and at length deposing the Queen from her 
throne. He makes a treasonable truce with the rebel Ty- 
rone, and suddenly returns home without orders, in Sep- 
tember 1599, much to the surprise and indignation of the 
Queen ; and shortly afterwards he is put under arrest at , 
the Lord Keeper's house. During these years, the play of 
" Richard II." has had a great run upon the stage, and re- 
ceived the special countenance of Essex, Southampton, and 
their associates ; and two editions have been printed, but 
with the scene " containing the deposing of a king " left 
out; and in 1599, Dr. Hayward's pamphlet of the " First 
Yeare of King Henry the Fourth," which was a studied 
and treasonable adaptation of the story of Bolingbroke and 
King Richard the Second to the present state of affairs, 
being printed with a dedication to the Earl of Essex, 
arouses the anger of the Queen, and adds to the alarm al- 
ready awakened in her mind by the theatres and the play. 
Hay ward is sent straight to the Tower. Essex makes all 
haste to call in the book, and to suppress the dedication ; 
but the forbidden thing was much sought after. Not long 
after this, and while Essex is under arrest, and Bacon, in 
sundry interviews with the Queen, is still interceding in his 
behalf, her Majesty brings up against him this affair of Dr. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 97 

Hayward's book, and also, as it would seem, distinctly flings 
at Bacon himself about " a matter which grew from him, 
but went after about in others' names," being, in fact, no 
other than the play itself; but this will be made the subject 
of special notice below. 

From this time until he became Attorney- General in 
1613, while pursuing his public labors, he is still continu- 
ing in private, like Prospero in the play, his secret studies 
and the liberal arts in his " poor cell " at Gray's Inn, or in 
his lodge at Twickenham Park, or at the charming coun- 
try-seat of Gorhambury, which fell to him on the death of 
his brother Anthony in 1604, where his taste for elegant 
studies, his delight in beautiful gardens, and his love for 
the Muses find ample gratification. Sometime after the 
death of the Queen in 1603, he takes pains to record her 
praises, signalizing her happy reign in the " In Felicem 
Memoriam Elizabethan " ; for this " silver-tongued Meli- 
cert " will surely not fail, like the ungrateful subject of 
Chettle's spleen, to 

" Drop from his honied muse one sable teare, 
To mourn her death that graced his desert, 
And to his laies open'd her royall eare " ; 

as witness also the numerous sonnets to her addressed, the 
masques written for her entertainment, the graceful com- 
pliment in the " Midsummer Night's Dream," and that 
handsome tribute to her memory which is contained in the 
last act of the " Henry YIII." 

His speeches in Parliament have an eye to the welfare 
of the kingdom, and he is popular with the people, being 
sometimes elected for two or three boroughs at once ; and, 
on the coming in of the new sovereign, he is for the first 
time regularly appointed King's Counsel, is knighted by 
King James in 1604, and, in 1606, in the forty-sixth year of 
his age, having found a maiden to his mind, he marries the 
pretty Miss Barnham, with £220 a year, being now able to 
settle upon her £500 a year out of his own income, though 
7 



98 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

he has lately had in pawn " a Jewell of Susannah set with dia- 
monds and rubies." In 1605-6, certain acts of Parliament 
are passed against witches, and Ben Jonson, Chapman, and 
Marston are sent to jail by the sublime author of the trea- 
tise on " Daemonologie and Witchcraft," for jesting on the 
Scots. William Shakespeare quits acting upon the stage, 
buys a lease of one half of the Tythes of Stratford-on- 
Avon, and is planting a mulberry-tree at New Place, when 
he should be writing the " Macbeth " and the " Lear." The 
" Macbeth," written somewhere in these years, takes a more 
flattering view of the Scots and of the doctrine of witches, 
and Shakespeare has the good fortune to escape the fate 
of his brother poets ; and the Christmas revels of the year 
1606, at Whitehall, bring out the great play of " Lear," for 
his Majesty's special entertainment. Bacon again expects 
the Solicitor's place, but is defeated by a trick of Cecil ele- 
vating Coke and Hobart ; but, at last, in 1607, having 
made his great speech on the Union of Scotland, much to 
the satisfaction of the King, he is made Solicitor- General, 
in June, with " the promise of a place of profit " in due 
time. 

Not long after this event, the wonderful comedy of 
"Troilus and Cressida," in a rather surprising manner, 
makes its escape from the " grand possessors' wills," as we 
have already had occasion to notice. In 1607-8, Bacon is 
engaged upon his a Characters of Julius and Augustus 
Caesar" ; and, by some marvellous accident, the tragedy of 
" Julius Caesar " comes from the hand of Shakespeare very 
soon after, as if there were at least a " semblable cohe- 
rence " between the two men's spirits. Writing to Mr. 
Tobie Matthew, about this time, concerning his " Happy 
Memory of the late Queen," Bacon says : " I showed you 
some model, though at that time methought you were as 
willing to hear Julius Caesar as Queen Elizabeth com- 
mended." 

In 1610, Shakespeare finally retires to Stratford, and 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 99 

takes to his old trade, suing John Addenbrook and Thomas 
Horneby for 24s. On the 20th of April in this year, the 
" Macbeth " is* performed at the Globe for the first time 
that we know. The Earls of Southampton, Pembroke, and 
Montgomery, together with Sir Francis Bacon, are now fel- 
low-members of the Virginia Company, which sends out 
Somers's fleet to the West Indies, to be terribly vexed 
by storms on the voyage, and the good ship Admiral is 
wrecked upon the Bermudas ; of which a thrilling account 
soon after appeared in Jourdan's " Discovery of the Ber- 
mudas, otherwise called the Isle of Divels " ; and it is just 
after, in 1611, that we first hear of the " Tempest," the 
" born devil " Caliban, and " the still-vex'd Bermoothes," 
which, we are to believe, have occupied the leisure of Wil- 
liam Shakespeare in the intervals of his economical avoca- 
tions and his social converse with his Stratford neighbors. 
In 1612, on the death of his perfidious friend Cecil, Earl 
of Salisbury, Bacon is named by the liberal party for Sec- 
retary of State. This failing, however, he desires to have 
the Mastership of the Wards ; but Sir Thomas Cope steps 
in, and buys the place at an enormous price. It is in this 
year, too, as is worthy of note, that Bartholomew Legate is 
burnt for Arian heresy, and King James in person w T rites a 
fulmination against the heretic Vorstius away over in Hol- 
land. With Bacon, business is now becoming more labo- 
rious, but the " Intellectual Globe " is written, and the " No- 
vum Organum " progresses : " My great work goeth for- 
ward." Toward the close of the year, the long-protracted 
festivities attending the nuptials of the Princess Elizabeth, 
shortly to become Queen of Bohemia, began with the per- 
formance at Court of the " Winter's Tale " and the " Tem- 
pest," and ended only with the magnificent tragedy of 
;i Henry VIIL," in June 1613; and in October following, 
Sir Edward Coke is raised to the King's Bench, very little 
to his own satisfaction, and Sir Francis Bacon, having some- 
time before received the " royal promise to succeed," be- 



1 00 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

eomes Attorney-General, at the age of fifty-two, and the 
plays certainly cease to appear : — 

"All your doing, Mr. Attorney," says Coke. Bacon 
"Your Lordship all this while has grown in breadth ; you 
must needs now grow in height, or you will be a monster." 

In these years also, the "Apology concerning Essex " 
(1604), the speeches touching Purveyors and on the King's 
Messages, the "Advancement of Learning" (1605), the 
"Office of Constables" (1608), and the "Wisdom of the 
Ancients" (1609-10), were written, or finished, and some 
new editions of the Essays published ; and during the same 
period were written the greater plays of this author (these 
recreations of his other studies, perhaps) : the "As You 
Like it," the " Twelfth Night," the " Hamlet," the " Meas- 
ure for Measure," the " Lear," the " Julius Caesar," the 
" Troilus and Cressida," the " Macbeth," the " Othello," the 
"Cymbeline," the "Tempest," the "Winter's Tale," the 
" Henry VI II.," and lastly (if they were in fact finished 
before Bacon's fall from power), the " Coriolanus," the 
"Anthony and Cleopatra," and the " Timon of Athens." 

It may be briefly added further, that, between 1613 and 
1621, Bacon was occupied with his graver philosophical 
labors and his public employments, in the full enjoyment 
of the royal favor, political power, and great fame. In 
1616 the year of Shakespeare's death, the grand trial of 
the Judges on the question of the King's prerogative came 
up before the King in person. The Lord Chancellor (El- 
lesmere) and the King decide for Bacon's opinion against 
that of the Judges, who, all but Coke, finally yielded the 
point. Coke, overruled, has to eat his words, being for 
once " clearly in the wrong," says Blackstone, 1 and is sub- 
sequently deposed from the King's Bench. In reply to his 
many assaults, Bacon addresses him a letter expostulatory : 
" Like a true friend, though far unworthy to be counted so, 
to shew you your true shape in a glass, and that not in a 
i 3 Black. Comm., 54. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 101 

false one to flatter you, nor yet in one that should make 
you seem worse than you are." 

On taking his seat in Chancery (March 7, 1617), he 
delivers an admirable speech on the duties of the Chancel- 
lor, and there is immense parade on the occasion, of which 
he says afterwards, in a private letter, " There was much 
ado and a great deal of world, . . . hell to me, or purga- 
tory at least." Not long after, however, the indefatigable 
Coke, grim and fierce, but wise as a serpent, conceives the 
scheme of buying up the whole Yilliers family by sacrificing 
his own daughter on the altar of court-favor and ambitious 
intrigue ; a scheme also by Lord Campbell (and all disci- 
ples of the Cokean doctrine of the industrious money-get- 
ting chief end of man) deemed to be " a masterly stroke 
of policy," 1 and one that would, as it were, hoist Bacon 
with his own petard ; but the Lady Coke, for whom Bacon 
feels some sympathy, runs away with the girl into the coun- 
try, and keeps her shut up in a castle. Coke applies to the 
Lord Keeper (Bacon) for a warrant to seize her, which 
Bacon properly enough refuses, and advises the King 
against the marriage, until, much to his amazement, he 
finds that both the King and Buckingham (or Bucking- 
ham, and of course the King) are deep in the plot. He is 
even " suffered to remain in an antechamber among lac- 
queys, seated on an old wooden box," holding the purse of 
the Great Seal in his hand, and is threatened with imme- 
diate downfall, until he will submit to the whims of the 
prime-favorite, and hold his peace about this iniquitous 
marriage, barely escaping with his office, while Coke be- 
comes a Privy Councillor. This thing over for the present, 
he is made Lord Chancellor and Baron Verulam in 1618, 
publishes the "Novum Organum" in 1620, dedicated to the 
King, and becomes Viscount St. Alban, January 27, 1621. 
Parliament met a few days afterwards all furious for re- 
form. Bacon himself had advised the calling of a parlia- 
1 Lord Campbell's Lives of the Chan., II. 312. 



102 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

ment as a remedy for the public evils ; and Coke, turned 
" flaming patriot," is a member, and immediately begins on 
" bribery and corruption " in high places, hitting at Bacon 
first of all ; and Buckingham, adventurer Cran field, scent- 
hound Churchill, Dean Williams, high priest of the sum- 
mum bonum, and all the Villiers harpies, the mother of 
them inclusive, who already imagines she has the aforesaid 
Dean by the coat-tail, join the cry, and fall to work. Ba- 
con, warned to look about him, answers : " I look above." 
But seeing that there was no help for it now, he concluded 
to lean upon the King, and depend upon his personal 
friendship and sovereign power alone to save him from 
total ruin, or worse ; and so gave up the seals, and made a 
clear submission and a formal confession. In May follow- 
ing, he received sentence, was fined £40,000, disqualified 
from holding office, sent to the Tower during the King's 
pleasure (which was not long), and banished London 
(the verge of the Court). He retires to his books and 
gardens at Gorhambury, and, by the next October, the 
" History of Henry VII." begun long before, is finished, 
and submitted to "the file of his Majesty's judgment." * 
In April 1622, a copy of the " History of Henry VII." is 
presented to the Queen of Bohemia, the fair Princess for 
whose nuptials the " Winter's Tale " had been written ; and 
the " History of Henry VIIL," beginning " like a fable of 
the poets," is commenced but never finished. In the mean 
time, Buckingham and Cranfield (now Lord Treasurer) are 
pressing for the spoils of their late victory, until by Novem- 
ber, the faithful Secretary Meautys begins to think they 
" have such a savage word among them as fleecing" 2 
Buckingham is set upon having York House. At first, 
Bacon replies : " York House is the house wherein my 
father died, and wherein I first breathed ; and there will 
I yield my last breath, if so please God, and the King will 

1 Letter to the King, March 22, 1622. 

2 Letter, Works (Mont.), XII. 430; (Philad.),III. 146. 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 103 

give me leave ; though I be now by fortune (as the old prov- 
erb is) like a bear in a monk's hood." i But, seeing that the 
King would not give him leave against the favorite, York 
House had to go, in the end, and Bacon is left in debt, strug- 
gling with penury, until at length his fine is made over to 
him; but he insists upon driving a showy equipage when he 
goes abroad, and, says Prince Charles, meeting him on the 
road in full trim, " will not go out in a snuff." During the 
autumn of 1622, his letters are addressed from Bedford 
House in London. Buckingham is still grasping after his 
" house at Gorhambury " and his " forest " there. At first, 
he had answered, " I will not be stripped of my feathers " ; 
but, by the 5th of February, 1623, he has made up his mind 
to submit to the necessities of his fate, and writes to Buck- 
ingham of that date : 4; And for my house at Gorhambury, 
I do infinitely desire your lordship should have it." 2 And 
having made this last sacrifice, about the first of March, 
1623, he returns to his old lodgings in Gray's Inn, where 
he continues to be " shut up," says Lord Campbell, " like a 
cloistered friar." Tn October of the same year, the " De 
Augmentis " is published with a dedication to Buckingham, 
as if that might still further appease him ; and he ventures 
to solicit the Provostship of Eton, " a pretty cell for my for- 
tune " (as he expresses it), and is refused ; " for," he con- 
tinues, " I hope I shall be found a man humbled as a 
Christian, but not dejected as a worldling." 3 The " His- 
tory of Life and Death," written in Latin, is now pub- 
lished ; and it is sometime during this same year that the 
Folio edition of the Plays first sees the light. The entry 
on the Stationers' Register bears date the 8th November, 
1623; but one copy is said to exist, having the date 1622 
upon the title-page ; whence it may be inferred that the 

1 Letter, Works (Mont.), XII. 420, 436. 

2 Letter, Works (Philad.), III. 147. 

8 Letter to Oxford (Feb. 2, 1623-4); WorTcs (Mont.), XII. 456; (Philad.), 
PI. 154. 



104 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

work had been begun, if not entirely completed, in that 
year. 

Somewhere between 1623 and 1626, his sentence is fully 
pardoned ; and Coke, Cranfield, Williams, and others, disci- 
ples of the Cokean doctrine of the chief end of man, who 
had been instrumental in pulling Bacon down, now fall 
themselves, some with Coke himself into the Tower, and 
some into the lowest deeps. Bacon continues his labors at 
Gray's Inn (when not too sick to work) upon the " Great 
Instauration," the " Apothegms," the " Ploly War," the 
"Natural History," the "New Atlantis," the Essays, and 
the Psalms, with the assistance, at times, of Meautys, Mat- 
thew, Pawley, Hobbes, Ben Jonson, and George Herbert ; 
for poets and philosophers and divines alike appear to have 
had a singular admiration and affection for this " Chancel- 
lor of Parnassus," of whom Ben Jonson never repented of 
having written these lines, nor ever recanted a word or syl- 
lable of them, characterizing him as — 

" England's high Chancellor, the destined heir, 
In his soft cradle, to his father's chair, 
Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full 
Out of their choicest and their whitest wool." 

A new edition of the Essays, with twenty new ones 
added, and among them (as it may be well to note) the 
Essay of the " Vicissitude of Things," is printed in 1625 ; 
the " Metrical Versions of the Psalms of David " are dedi- 
cated to George Herbert, " as the best judge of Divinity 
and Poesy met;" and he dies on the 9th of April, 1626, 
saying in his will : " For my name and memory I leave it 
to men's charitable speeches, and to foreign nations, and 
the next ages." 

There w r as less occasion, perhaps, than has been gener- 
ally supposed, that he should leave it by his will either to 
the one or to the other ; for his own contemporaries were 
not wholly blind to his superiority, wmether in the powers 
of the intellect or of the imagination, in the extent of his 



t 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 105 

learning or in the nobility of his nature and character, in 
the splendor of his genius or in the greatness of his works. 
Though no account remains to tell us what unusual state 
attended his funeral, we know that his faithful secretary, 
Thomas Meautys. who erected a fitting monument over 
him in St. Michael's Church, near St. Albans, where he was 
buried by the side of his mother (as he had himself de- 
sired) " within the walls of Old Verulam," whereon he 
inscribed him the Light of Science and the Law of Elo- 
quence, whom he had worshipped living, and admired when 
dead, was by no means the only one to cast a flower upon 
his grave. Numerous tributes to his memory immediately 
appeared. Some of them have been preserved in the Har- 
leian Miscellanies, elegantly written in Latin, and though 
for the most part anonymous, evidently by men of learning 
and genius, who knew how to appreciate his worth even as 
a son of Apollo, as witness these few lines of extract : — 

" Constat, Aprile uno te potuisse mori : 
Ut flos hinc lacrymis, illinc Philomela querelis 
Deducant linguae funera sola tuse. 

Georgius Herbert." 



" Crudelis nunquam vdre prius Atropos : orbem 
Totura habeas, Phoebum tu modo redde meum. 

Hei mihi! nee coelum, nee mors, nee musa (Bacone) 
Obstabant fatis, nee mea vota tuis." 



" Ah nunquam ve're infoelix prius ipsus Apollo ! 
Unde illi qui sic ilium amet alter erit ? 

Ah numerum non est habitum; jamque necesse est, 
Contentus musis ut sit Apollo novem." 



Marmore Pieridum gelido Phcebique choragum 
Inhumane' patis, stultse viator? abi: 

Fallere: jam rutilo Verulamia fulget Olympo: 
Sidere splendet aper magne Jacobi tuo. 1 

i Earl Misc., X. 288-295. 



106 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

We know when Bacon's acknowledged works were pub- 
lished, and also in what years many of them were chiefly 
written ; but some of them occupied his mind more or less 
during many years or nearly all his life, and materials were 
always accumulating on his hands ; and some of them were 
composed in whole or in part long before they were printed. 
But most of these plays were no doubt produced on the 
stage very soon after they were written ; and, although it 
may not be possible to fix with precision the exact dates at 
which they were composed, in all cases, the facts known 
concerning them enable us to assign a hither limit to their 
appearance with positive certainty in nearly every instance ; 
and this will be sufficient for the purpose in hand. The 
researches of later critics have considerably modified the 
chronological order of Malone and older writers, and they 
furnish data on which a near approximation to the date of 
composition, in the majority of instances, can be attained. 
On these and such other lights as we have, the following 
order, with the nearest dates, may be accepted, perhaps, 
as a very close approach to the truth. 

CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER OF THE PLAYS. 
I. Period. — 1582-1593. 



Titus Andronicus. 

Pericles (first sketch). 

Henry VI., 3 Parts (first sketches). 

Taming of the Shrew (first sketch). 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 



Love's Labor 's Lost. 
All 's Well That Ends Well. 
(Venus and Adonis. Printed 1593.) 
(Rape of Lucrece. Printed 1594.) 



II. Period.— 1594-1600. 



Written 

Midsummer Night's Dream. .1594 

Comedy of Errors 1594 

Romeo and Juliet 1595 

King John 1595 

Richard II 1596 

Richard III ...1596-7 

Merchant of Venice 1597 



"Written 

1 Henry IV 1598 

2 Henry IV 1598 

Much Ado About Nothing. . .1599 

Merry Wives of Windsor 1599 

Henry V 1599 

As You Like It 1600 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 



107 



III. Period. — 1601-1613. 



Written 

Twelfth Night 1601 

Hamlet . 1602 

Measure for Measure 1603-4 

Lear 1606 

Julius Caesar 1607 

Troilus and Cressida 1608 

Antony and Cleopatra 1608 

Macbeth 1605-1609 



Writtea 

Coriolanus 1610 

Cymbeline 1610 

Winter's Tale 1611 

Tempest 1611 

Othello 1611-1613 

Henry VIII 1612-13 

Timon of Athens 1610-1623 



PLAYS PRINTED BEFORE THE FOLIO OF 1623. 



Printed 

Romeo and Juliet 1597 

Richard II 1597 

Richard III 1597 

Love's Labor 's Lost 1598 

1 Henry IV 1598 

Titus Andronicus 1600 

Midsummer Night's Dream. .1600 
Merchant of Venice 1600 



Printed 

2 Henry IV 1600 , 

Much Ado About Nothing. . .1600 

Henry V 1600 

Hamlet 1603-4 

Lear 1608 

Pericles (not in the Folio) . . .1609 

Troilus and Cressida 1609 

Othello 1622 



PLAYS FIRST PRINTED IN THE FOLIO OF 1623. 
Earlier Works. 



Taming of the Shrew. 1 
Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

1 Henry VI. 

2 and 3 Hemy VI.2 



All 's Well That Ends Well. 

Comedy of Errors. 

King John. 

Merry Wives of Windsor. 3 



As You Like It. 
Twelfth Night. 
Measure for Measure. 
Julius Caesar. 
Antony and Cleopatra. 
Macbeth. 



Later Works. 

Coriolanus. 
Cymbeline. 
Winter's Tale. 
Tempest. 
Henry VIII. 
Timon of Athens. 



Thus it appears that the period of time in which these 
plays and poems were produced corresponds exactly to that 
portion of Bacon's life in which we may most easily sup- 

1 First printed in the present form : an older form printed in 1594. 

2 First in complete form: only first sketches before. 
8 First in complete form : only a sketch before. 



108 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 

pose they could have been written by him, being the period 
of thirty-one years between his coming to the bar, in 1582, 
and his elevation to the principal law-office of the crown, in 
1613, and between the ages of twenty-one and fifty-two. 
During the first twenty-five years of this time, and until 
made Solicitor-General, in 1607, he was looking in vain for 
advancement in the state, getting none beyond a seat in 
Parliament, which came from the people, and the small 
employment of a Queen's (or King's) Counsel, both places 
of honor rather than profit ; and was a barrister, a close 
student, and a bachelor at his lodgings in Gray's Inn, with 
distressingly little professional business and much leisure 
for writing and for study, spending his vacations in the 
quiet retreats of Gorhambury and Twickenham Park ; a 
constant attendant upon the Court, a friend and counsellor 
of the favorite Essex, and an intimate associate of his gay 
young compeers, Southampton, Rutland, Pembroke, and 
Montgomery, who were constant visitors of the theatre, 
some of them great patrons of learning, and themselves 
amateurs in poetry, and all of them patrons and lovers of 
the liberal arts. 

All the while, Francis Bacon was intent upon his legal 
studies, his parliamentary duties, his scientific inquiries, his 
civil and moral Essays, his " Wisdom of the Ancients," his 
"Advancement of Learning," and those philosophical spec- 
ulations and instaurations which were his " graver studies," 
together with sundry unnamed " recreations " of his other 
studies ; being thus, at the same time, engaged in writing 
various works in prose (if not in verse also) on subjects 
which, in a general view, and in their main matter and 
scope, are found to be essentially kindred and parallel with 
these very plays. In his dedication of the " Dialogue Touch- 
ing a Holy War" (itself not without some touch of the 
Shakespearean faculty), addressed to the learned Bishop 
Andrews, in 1622, he tells us that these smaller works, such 
as the Essays, and " some other particulars of that nature,'' 



CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS. 109 

being perhaps a part of those " particular exchanges " to 
which he had hitherto been given, had been and would con- 
tinue to be " the recreations of his other studies ; " but they 
must now give way to the more important philosophical 
labors and those " banks and mounts of perpetuity which 
will not break"; for on these he was henceforth to be more 
exclusively employed ; " though I am not ignorant/' says 
he, "that those kind of writings would with less pains and 
embracement (perhaps) yield more lustre and reputation 
to my name than those other which I have in hand/ 1 * 

Nor is there anything remarkable in the circumstance 
that a barrister of the Inns of Court should be a poet and 
write for the stage. John Ford of Gray's Inn, and Fran- 
cis Beaumont of the Inner Temple, were both lawyers and 
eminent dramatic writers ; the Christmas Revels at these 
Inns were celebrated with masques, triumphs, and stage- 
plays ; plays were written by eminent scholars and divines 
to be performed on festive occasions, even at the Universi- 
ties ; Thomas Sackville Lord Buckhurst, and Foulke Grev- 
ille Lord Brooke, were poets, and wrote plays ; Sir Henry 
Wotton, sometime secretary of the Earl of Essex, also 
wrote plays ; William, Earl of Pembroke, like the cele- 
brated Sir Philip Sidney, was a cultivator of the art of poe- 
try ; Dr. John Donne, a great philosopher and divine, as 
well as George Herbert, the " best judge of divinity and 
poesy met," and Sir John Davies, a distinguished lawyer 
and judge, are named as founders of the metaphysical 
school of poetry of that day ; 2 and that great scholar and 
writer, John Selden of the Inner Temple, though not him- 
self a poet, was such a critic, philosopher, and man, as to 
command the esteem and confidence of Lord Bacon, who 
named him in his will as one eminently fit to sit in judg- 
ment upon his unpublished manuscripts. Nor is it to be 
supposed that he contemplated in the writing of these poet- 

i Works (Boston), XIII. 188. 

2 Craik's Hist, of Eng. Lit. I. 578. 



110 CIRCUMSTANCES. 

ical works merely " some lease of quick revenue," or any 
immediate advantage to himself, or personal fame, as many 
of the poets did, in those days. On the contrary, we may 
safely imagine for him the highest and most disinterested 
purpose which it is possible to conceive for any author, even 
for himself, who was seeking by the labors of a life to re- 
form and advance the learning, science, philosophy, arts, 
morals, and the whole " practic part " of human life in this 
world ; in which the personal interests of the writer, and 
even the lustre of fame and reputation, were with himself, 
perhaps, the least important considerations, when these 
" trifles " were in question. 

§ 2. CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Francis Bacon w T as endowed by nature with the richest 
gifts and most extraordinary powers. His mother was a 
learned woman in those days when learning for either sex 
implied a knowledge of the Greek and Latin classics ; and 
we find her translating works of deep theology, after the 
example of Lady Jane Grey, who, according to Ascham, 
read " the Phaedon Platonis in Greeke " with as much 
delight as if it had been " one of the tales of Boccase," or 
of the Queen herself, who is said to have translated Boe- 
thius " De Consolatione Philosophise " into her own Eng- 
lish. This Boethius, it will be remembered, was a Chris- 
tian philosopher and poet of the fifth century, 1 and a writer 
that exhibited the highest order of Platonic genius and 
intellect, both in style and matter surpassing Cicero him- 
self; and in the age of Elizabeth there were not a few 
scholars and divines, who, like Richard Hooker, George 
Herbert, John Selden, Dr. Donne, Bishop Andrews, and 
Lord Bacon himself, were by no means afraid of the phi- 
losophy of Plato. His father was not only Lord Keeper of 
the Great Seal, but an eminent scholar and a patron of 
learning and art, who had the reputation of uniting in him- 
1 Opera Boethii (Class. Delph. Yalpy), London, 1823. 



CIRCUMSTANCES. Ill 

self "the opposite characters of a witty and a weighty 
speaker," * and w T as, says Sir Eobert Naunton, " an arch- 
oeece of wit and of wisdome," and " abundantly facetious ; 
which tooke much with the queene." 2 His palace of York 
House, in which this son was born, and his country-seat of 
Gorhambury, was well furnished with libraries, and adorned 
with works of art and whatever might please the taste of 
the scholar and gentleman. His father breeds him as the 
King did Leonatus in the play, — 

" Puts to him all the learnings that his time 
Could make him receiver of; which he took, 
As we do air, fast as 't was minister'd; and 
In his spring became a harvest; liv'd in Court 
(Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lov'd ; 
A sample to the youngest, to th' more mature, 
A glass that feated them ; and to the graver, 
A child that guided dotards." — Cymbeline, Act I. Sc. 1. 

We can easily imagine what must have been the early 
education of this notable youth, whom the Queen called her 
young Lord Keeper at ten, and whose " first and childish 
years," says Dr. Paw T ley, " were not without some mark of 
eminency : at which time, he was endued with that preg- 
nancy and towardness of wit, as they w r ere passages of that 
deep and universal apprehension which was manifest in him 
afterwards." We need not be surprised to find him enter- 
ing the University of Cambridge, at a little more than 
twelve, discovering the deficiencies of Aristotle and out- 
stripping his tutors before he was sixteen, going as an 
attache to the Court of Paris, learning French, Italian, and 
Spanish, travelling with the French Court, and being 
intrusted with a mission to the Queen, before he was nine- 
teen ; an utter barrister at twenty-one, a member of Par- 
liament at twenty-four, a Bencher at twenty-five, and doubt- 
less a maturer man at twenty, in all learning and wisdom, 
than most graduates of the universities were at full thirty 

1 Biogr. Britannica, I. 446. 

2 Memoirs of Eliz., 75, London, 1824. 



1 12 CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Upon the death of his father, sitting down thus furnished, 
at Gray's Inn, in 1579, to the study of the law, a further 
survey of the Greek and Latin poets, and a thorough study 
of the philosophic wisdom and culture of the ancients, 
reviewing the patent deficiencies of his own age in matters 
civil, moral, and religious, in sciences, philosophy, and art, 
with the recollection about him, perhaps, of the plays that 
had been written and performed within the walls of the 
University while he was there, and with such example be- 
fore him as that of Sir Philip Sidney, and such encourage- 
ment for the cultivation of the art of poetry as was to be 
found in his writings as being not unworthy of the highest 
dignity, rank, ambition, or genius of any man, and with that 
boldness of self-conscious power that did not fear to grap- 
ple with Aristotle and Plato, nor even to undertake the 
renovation of all philosophy, it is not so very wonderful 
that he should also come to the conclusion that " true art is 
always capable of advancing," 1 and should even begin to 
spread his own wings in the sphere of Apollo. The " Ve- 
nus and Adonis " at once gets to the very essence and bot- 
tom of the pastoral Arcadia, and the " Rape of Lucrece " 
measures the height of the Roman virtue and dignity. 
Ancient lore furnishes material and story for a " Titus An- 
dronicus," or a " Pericles," in near imitation of the manner 
of the Greek tragedy, which he may send to the theatre, 
perhaps. The " Histoires Tragiques " of Belleforest, and 
the Italian novels of Cinthio, Bandello, Boccaccio, and the 
rest, which he has read in Paris, furnish hints of fable and 
incident for a few delightful and entertaining comedies of 
love, wit, and humor, which yet savor of the classic lore of 
the University, and bear traces of his Parisian French and 
his accomplishments in Italian and Spanish. The splendid 
entertainments at Court set the young imagination all in a 
blaze, and produce that extraordinary exhibition of love, 
wit, and fancy, the " Midsummer Night's Dream," in honor 
i Scala Intellects, WorJcs (Mont.), XIV. 426-7. 



CIRCUMSTANCES. 113 

of the maiden Queen. The Christmas Revels at Gray's 
Inn call for a new " Comedy of Errors " out of Plautus, 
with sundry sharp hits at the gowned and wigged gentry 
there assembled, which may go to the theatre also, now that 
its special work is done. The English Histories of Holin- 
shed, Hall, Stow, Speed, and the rest, all compact with 
learning, imagination, and poetry, of which he has made 
some study, as well as Chaucer, the old ballads, and all the 
old plays, tales, proverbs, and chronicles, which he has 
found time to ransack, may furnish fable, story, moral pre- 
cept, and tragic incident enough for a few dramatic histo- 
ries in the new kind, of which some first specimens and 
youthful sketches, which will eventually grow into larger 
dimensions and more perfect form, may be thrown upon the 
stage at once, until they begin to attract the public atten- 
tion, and find their way into the hands of the printers, 
without the author's name, as they were lately acted by the 
Lord -Chamberlain's or the Earl of Pembroke's servants. 
All this will be done in secret, or with the knowledge of a 
few friends only who can keep a secret ; for he well knows 
that the public opinion is much against poets and writers 
for the stage, and that to be known as a poet and a play- 
wright would be next to ruin to all his prospects for ad- 
vancement in the state, and in a profession in which the 
greatest lights were of opinion, with Lord Coke, that poet- 
asters and play-writers were to be ranked with " alche- 
mysts, monopotexts, concealers, and informers," whose 
"fatal end was beggary," being no better than "fit sub- 
jects for the grand jury as vagrants." He had not made 
up his mind yet to become " a sorry book-maker," nor quite 
to retire to Cambridge with a couple of men, there to de- 
vote his life to contemplations and studies, " without looking 
back." In the mean time, he is pushing his interest at 
Court, with the tardy support of his uncle, Lord Burghley, 
and the jealousy of the Cecils ; for he has chosen to follow a 

public, rather than a merely professional or literary career. 
8 



114 CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Giving an account of himself, in the latter part of his life, 
more particularly in reference to his philosophical labors, 
perhaps, but not wholly out of place in this connection, he 
says : — 

" When I came to conceive of myself as born for the 
service of humanity, and to look upon state employment as 
amongst those things which are of public right and patent 
to all, like the wave or the breeze, I proceeded both to 
inquire what might most conduce to the benefit of men, 
and to deliberate for what special work I myself had been 
best fitted by nature. Thereupon I found that no other thing 
was of so great merit in reference to the human race as the 
discovery and authorship of new truths and arts, by which 

human life may be improved I judged, therefore, 

that my nature had a certain inherent intimacy and rela- 
tionship with truth. Yet, seeing that both by descent and 
education I had been imbued in civil affairs, and, inasmuch 
as I was still a young man, was sometimes shaken in my 
opinions, and thinking that I owed something peculiar to 
my country which was not equally due in all other cases, and 
hoping that, if I might obtain some honorable rank in the 
state, I should accomplish what I had designed with greater 
advantages in the exercise of my genius and my industry, I 
both applied myself to the acquirement of political knowl- 
edge, and, with such modesty as beseemed and in as far as 
it could be done without any disingenuousness, endeav- 
oured to commend myself to such friends as had it in their 
power to assist my advancement." * 

His compact learning, exact knowledge, and brilliant ora- 
torical powers soon begin to acquire for him an ascendency 
in Parliament and public affairs. He connects himself 
with the fortunes and party of the rising favorite, Essex, 
and, at the same time, makes the acquaintance of the young 
lords and courtiers, his adherents and followers, Southamp- 
ton among them, constant attendants and patrons of the 
l Proemium de Int. Nat, (Craik's Bacon, 611). 



CIRCUMSTANCES. 115 

theatre ; who, as the friends and associates of Essex and 
himself, were no doubt frequent visitors at his chambers in 
Gray\s Inn, or at his lodge at Twickenham. His brother 
Anthony and himself, the more effectually to push their 
fortunes in this direction, and to maintain this high estate 
and prospect of advancement, incur expense beyond their 
immediate means of living, and even keep a coach, which 
the good Lady Ann thinks a piece of extravagance ; and 
they give entertainments of stage-plays at Anthony's house 
to " cits and gentlemen, very much to the delight of Essex 
and his jovial crew," but, as Lady Ann thinks, also very 
much " to the peril of her sons' souls." x In the summer 
of 1593, Anthony has become secretary, and Francis, the 
legal and political adviser of the Earl of Essex ; and it is 
at this very time that the " Venus and Adonis " is dedi- 
cated to Southampton, and, in the next year, the " Rape of 
Lucrece," also, under the name of William Shakespeare. 
The plays have been performed at his theatre, and he has 
already acquired the reputation of being the author of 
them ; though as yet none of them have been printed 
under his name. Certainly it will require nr> great stretch 
of imagination to conceive that during these familiar visits 
of Essex and Southampton to his chambers in Gray's Inn, 
he may have taken the liberty to show them, or to read to 
them, the manuscripts of these poems. We may very well 
suppose they would urge him to publish them. But he 
does not desire to appear before the public in this charac- 
ter, and means to " profess not to be a poet." 2 This cover 
is easily suggested. Southampton will not object to the use 
of his name in a dedication ; and William Shakespeare 
will be as ready to appear as the author of these poems as 
he has been, or will be, to figure as author on the title- 
pages of divers and sundry quarto plays which he certainly 
never wrote. A mere possibility, it is true, or even a strong 

1 Dixon's Pers. Hist, 68. 

2 Apology concerning Essex. 



116 CIRCUMSTANCES. 

probability, cannot be taken as any proof of the fact ; but 
if it be once established by other evidence that the plays 
and poems were actually written by Francis Bacon, then, 
of course, some such supposition as this must be admitted 
as absolutely necessary ; and of this fact there will be an 
ample sufficiency of other evidence. So extraordinary an 
arrangement, with so eminent a personage as the Earl of 
Southampton, is indeed a bold hypothesis ; especially in the 
face of that munificent largess of £1000, which he is said 
to have bestowed on Shakespeare, in recognition of the 
compliment and of his merit as a poet. But this story is 
itself a mere tradition, related with distrust by Eowe as 
handed down by Sir William Davenant ; and, as Mr. Hal- 
liwell observes, " considering the value of money in those 
days, such a gift is altogether incredible," 1 however prob- 
able it may be, otherwise, that some notice of the kind may 
have been taken of him. The Globe Theatre was erected 
somewhere in these years (1594-5), and it is by no means 
improbable that the Earl of Southampton should contribute 
a handsome sum towards this enterprise. And there may 
have been other reasons, more or less remotely connected 
with the history of these plays and their author, that were 
operative with these gay young courtiers in their patronage 
of the theatre, without the necessity of resorting (with 
Delia Bacon 2 ) to the hypothesis that they had, as a whole, 
or in any particular, a special bearing upon any schemes 
then impending for effecting changes in the state and gov- 
ernment, or any connection with any club of reformers ; 
especially if we consider that the Queen herself was willing 
to be wooed and to have sonnets addressed to her ; that 
she took great delight in the masques and plays, triumphs 
and dumb shows, which they got up for her amusement ; 
and that many of these very plays were performed before 
her at Court as they came out, and were " well liked of her 
Majesty." 

1 Life of Shakes., 161. 

2 Phil of ShaJcs. Plays Unfolded, 1857. 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 117 

§ 3. THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

As the work proceeded, the plan would very soon be con- 
ceived of a connected and continuous series of historical 
dramas, which should embrace the entire period of the civil 
wars of the Roses, rich enough in tragic story and event, 
and affording ample materials for illustrative examples in 
the more dignified subjects of a civil and moral nature, 
beginning with the " King John," as it were by way of pre- 
lude, in which the legitimate heir to the throne is set aside, 
and the nation is plunged into civil war; and continuing in 
subject and design, though not composed, or produced, in 
strict chronological order, with the weak and despotic reign 
of Richard II., whose imbecility leads to another usurpa- 
tion of the crown, with all the terrible consequences of 
disastrous civil war ; and extending through the two parts 
of the " Henry IV.," the " Henry V.," and the three parts 
of the " Henry VI.," to the coming in of Henry the Sev- 
enth in the u Richard III.," when the two Roses are finally 
united in one line, and a tragical history is brought to an 
end in the more peaceful times which followed : a scheme 
which may even have been suggested by Sackville's trag- 
edy of " Ferrex and Porrex" and the " Complaint of Buck- 
ingham." Speaking of Elizabeth Woodville, Dowager of 
Edward IV., Bacon says her history " was matter of trag- 
edy," * as it is very effectually made to appear in the " Rich- 
ard III." The same historical subject was continued, in 
due time, in a plain prose history of the reign of Henry 
VII., which contains a graphic and " speaking picture " 
of the false pretender, Perkin TVarbeck, " a counterfeit 
of that Richard, Duke of York (second son to Edward 
the Fourth)," of whom there was divulged "a flying opin- 
ion " that u he was not murdered in the Tower": where- 
fore, " this being one of the strangest examples of a per- 
sonation that ever was in elder or later times," it is also 

i-Hist. of Henry VI L 



118 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

given ; and it is written in the true Shakespearean vein, 
and, as any one may see that looks sharply enough, lacks 
nothing of the compactness, brevity, clearness, and beauty 
of his former style, dropping only the high tragic buskin 
and the blank verse. And here and there, ideas and ex- 
pressions inevitably crop out in it, all unconsciously to him- 
self, which strike upon the ear of the careful listener like 
the sound of an echo, as thus : — 

" Neither was Perkin for his part wanting to himself 
either in gracious and princely behaviour, or in ready and 
apposite answers, or in contenting and caressing those that 
did apply themselves unto him, or in pretty scorns or dis- 
dains to those that seemed to doubt of him ; but in all 
things did notably acquit himself: insomuch as it was gen- 
erally believed (as well amongst great persons as amongst 
the vulgar) that he was indeed Duke Richard. Nay, him- 
self with long and continual counterfeiting and with often 
telling a lie, was turned (by habit) almost unto the thing 
he seemed to be, and from a liar to a believer." * 

And we have the same ideas and similar expressions, in 
a like connection, in the " Tempest," as follows : — 

" Pros. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, which but by being so retir'd 
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He, being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
But what my power might else exact, — like one, 
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it* 
"V Made such a sinner of his memory, 

1 Hist, of Em. VII. ; WorJcs (Boston), XI. 210. 

2 So in the Folio, and in all editions I have seen; but I believe these 
words are an error of the press. It should read oft: the metre requires it; 
the sense requires it; and this authority from Bacon may be said to demand 
it. 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 119 

To credit his own lie — he did believe 
He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution, 
And executing th' outward face of royalty, 
With all prerogative : — hence his ambition 
Growing, — Dost thou hear? 

Mlran. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pros. To have no screen between this part he play'd, 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan."— Act J. Sc. 2. 

The similarity of the thought, in this often telling a lie, 
is noticed by Mr. Spedding, 1 who remarks that the sugges- 
tion came from Speed. Shakespeare, it is true, as well as 
Bacon, may have gotten the idea from that author ; but the 
general tenor of both passages, and the peculiar expression 
he did believe he was indeed the Duke, which accompanies 
the idea, sounds wonderfully as if it had dropped from the 
same mint, in both cases. Even this mi^ht be considered 
accidental, if it stood alone ; but it is only one of a thou- 
sand instances of equal, or greater force, that everywhere 
pervade these writings. Nor is it at all probable that Ba- 
con would catch both the idea and expression from Shake- 
speare's play : in fact, it is far more probable that both 
came from Bacon ; for we learn from Mr. Spedding's pref- 
ace, that Bacon had formed the design of writing that his- 
tory, and had actually begun it, and sketched the character 
of Henry VII., before the death of Elizabeth, having 
doubtless collected materials for the purpose, and made a 
study of the subject and of the story of Perkin, at the time 
when he was studying the historical pictures for these same 
dramatic histories. This conjecture is confirmed by the 
circumstance that Prospero's " false brother," the pretender 
in the play, 

— " confederates 
(So dry he was for sway) with the King of Naples." 

And the story itself seems well-nigh to have been sug- 
gested by the account, which is given in the " History of 
Henry VIL," of the French embassy, one topic of which 

l Notes to the Bist, of Hen. VIL 



120 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

was, that the French King intended " to make war upon 
the kingdom of Naples, being now in the possession of a 
oastard slip of Aragon ; but appertaining unto his majesty 
by clear and undoubted right ; which, if he should not by 
just arms seek to recover, he would neither acquit his hon- 
our nor answer it to his people;" and so, he had resolved to 
make u the reconquest of Naples." 1 Mention is made also 
of "Alphonso, Duke of Calabria, eldest son to Ferdinando, 
King of Naples " ; and among the characters in the play 
are k 'Alonso, King of Naples ; Prospero, the rightful Duke 
of Milan ; Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke/' and 
" Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples " : — 

" Pros. This King of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens ray brother's suit; 
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises, 
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukedom." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

And so, the story in the play itself having been drawn from 
the same quarry of materials as the history, this idea, hav- 
ing been once written into the play, in 1611, (if not already 
written into his notes for the History before 1603), very 
naturally drops out again in the completed work of 1621 ; 
and that, too, at about the same time when we may suppose 
he was engaged in revising the plays themselves for the 
Folio of 1623. 

And further still, these same Italian and Spanish histo- 
ries, in the very next year (1612), are introduced into 
Bacon's speech in the Countess of Shrewsbury's case, in 
immediate connection with Henry VII. and Perkin War- 
beck ; and in such manner as to show that they were still 
fresh in his memory ; and, in the facts stated as well as in 
the style and manner of the narration, the critical reader 
will discover some very suggestive resemblances with a part 
of the story of the " Tempest." The Countess had refused 

1 Hist of Hen. VII. ; Works (Boston), XI. 162, 199. 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 121 

to answer in the matter of Arabella Stuart, who had mar- 
ried Seymour, without the King's consent, and fled the 
kingdom. Bacon's speech proceeds thus : — 

" And accordingly hath been the practice of the wisest 
and stoutest princes to hold for matter pregnant of peril, 
to have any near them in blood to fly into foreign parts. 
Wherein I will not wander ; but take example of King 
Henry the Seventh, a prince not unfit to be paralleled with 
his Majesty. I mean not the particular of Perkin War- 
beck, for he was but an idol or a disguise ; but the exam- 
ple I mean is that of the earl of Suffolk, whom the king 
extorted from Philip of Austria. The story is memorable, 
that Philip, after the death of Isabella, coming to take pos- 
session of his kingdom of Castile, which was but matrimo- 
nial to his father-in-law Ferdinando of Aragon, was cast by 
weather upon the coast of Weymouth, where the Italian 
story saith, King Henry used him in all things else as a 
prince, but in one thing as a prisoner ; for he forced upon 
him to promise to restore the earl of Suffolk that was fled 
into Flanders." x 

Now, as King Henry VII. was deemed a prince " not 
unfit to be paralleled with his Majesty," so Prospero in the 
play was " the prime Duke," and 

" (so reputed 

In dignity) and, for the liberal arts, 
Without a parallel." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

And as Philip, coming to his kingdom of Castile, " which 
was but matrimonial to his father-in-law Ferdinando," was 
" cast by weather upon the coast of Weymouth," so the 
King of Naples, sailing with Prince Ferdinand, his son, for 
Tunis, where his daughter Claribel was to find a husband, 
was cast away in a storm upon the coast of the imaginary 
Atlantic island ; and the fortunes of Prince Ferdinand, as 
well as the principal events and the leading interest of the 
story in the play, are made to turn upon matters matri- 
i 2 Howell's State Trials, 775. 



122 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

monial to his intended father-in-law, the rightful Duke of 
\ Milan. Prospero regains his dukedom; Ferdinand, like 
Philip, is restored to his kingdom of Naples, with Miranda for 
a wife, in due time " to be King and Queen there " ; and the 
King of Naples becomes the friend of the restored Duke 
of Milan; and, in order to accomplish the object, as King 
Henry VII. used Philip in the speech, so Ferdinand in the 
play is " used in all things else as a prince, but in one thing 
as a prisoner." In the shipwreck, Ferdinand is separated 
from the rest of the ship's company, and cast upon the 
shore alone ; the invisible spirit Ariel is specially sent to 
draw him on by means of charms and music towards Pros- 
perous cell ; on the way, he falls in with Miranda, much to 
the surprise and admiration of both ; and, as the intent 
was, they forthwith fall in love. Prospero, seeing that his 
charm is working more than fast enough, suddenly puts on 
an air of severity towards Ferdinand : — 

"Pros. [Aside.] They are both in either' s pow'rs; but 
this swift business 
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light." 

He denounces Ferdinand as a usurper and a spy, that has 
come upon the island to win it from him u the lord on V 
Ferdinand, after some show of resistance, befitting his 
princely quality, submits himself a prisoner, thus : — 

" Pros. [ To Ferd.] Come on ; obey : 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
* And have no vigor in them. 

Ferd. So they are: 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
The wreck of all my friends, and this man's threats, 
To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me, 
Might I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth 
Let liberty make use of: space enough 
Have I in such a prison. 

Pros. [Aside.] It works." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

There is no other prison, however, than the manner in 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 128 

which he is used ; there is some temporary restraint for a 
purpose which is accomplished, the marriage and a restora- 
tion of friendship with Naples ; and so he is treated in one 
thing as a prisoner, but in all things else as a prince. He 
is even set to the drudgery of piling logs, in order to bring 
his sincerity to the final test. This apparent harshness 
awakens the sympathy of Miranda, and she offers to help 
him : — 

u Ferd. I am in ray condition 

A prince, Miranda; 

and for your sake, 

Am I this patient logman." — Act HI. Sc. 1. 

The same story is told more at length in the i% History 
of Henry VII.," 1 in which King Philip is " surprised with 
a cruel tempest," and " the ship wherein the King and 
Queen were, with two other small barks only, torn and in 
great peril, to escape the fury of the weather, thrust into 
Weymouth. King Philip himself, having not been used 
as it seems to sea, all wearied and extreme sick, would 
needs land to refresh his spirits" And when King Henry 
asks for the return of ; * that same hare-brain wild fellow," 
his subject the earl of Suffolk, the King of Castile replies, 
That can I not do with my honour, and less with yours ; for 
you will be thought to have used me as a prisoner." The 
same style runs from his pen, whether in prose or verse: — 

u Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 
Should become kings of Naples? 

Pros. but, howsoever you have 

Been justled from your senses, know for certain, 
That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
"Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely 
Upon this shore, where you were wrack' d, was landed, 
To be the lord on't."— Act V. Sc. 1. 

And the tale there ends with the same dream in which 
Ferdinand's spirits (in the play) were all bound up, thus : 
— " So that as the felicity of Charles the Eighth was said 

i Works (Boston), XL 342-348. 



124 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

to be a dream, so the adversity of Ferdinando was said like- 
wise to be a dream, it passed over so soon." 

The earliest authentic notice that we have of the exist- 
ence of this play is the entry discovered by Cunningham 
in the accounts of the Revels at Court, in the Book for 
1611-12, in which it is named as having been performed 
before his Majesty at Whitehall, on " Hallowmas night," 
which, falling on the first day of November, is presumed to 
have been November 1, 1611. 1 It was also acted at Court, 
during the festivities attending the nuptials of the Princess 
Elizabeth in the beginning of the year 1613. The best 
critics have assigned the composition of the play to the 
year 1611. Some incidents in it make it quite certain that 
it must have been written after the voyage of the ''Admi- 
ral," and after the publication of Jourdan's account of it, 
in his " Discovery of the Barmudas, otherwise called the He 
of Divels," in 1610; which islands are therein "supposed 
to be enchanted and inhabited with witches and devils, 
which grew by reason of accustomed monstrous thunder- 
storm and tempest near unto those islands " ; and the ship, 
" by God's divine providence, at a high water ran right 
between two strong rocks, where it stuck fast, without 
breaking, 5 ' and all were saved. So, in the play, when Pros- 
pero is giving an account to Miranda how they were sent 
to sea in " a rotten carcass of a boat," to which " the sigh- 
ing winds did but loving wrong," until there in that island 
they arrived, we have a similar expression, thus : — 

"Miran. How came we ashore ? 

Pros. By Providence divine." 

The Countess of Shrewsbury's case was heard at Trinity 
term (that is, in the beginning of summer) of 1612 ; 2 and 
taking the play to have been first produced in the preced- 
ing November, there would seem to be no occasion for 

1 White's Shakes., II. p. 6. 

2 7 Coke's Rep. 94. 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 125 

wonder that, at the date of this trial, these same Italian 
stories which had so lately served the purpose of the poet, 
should have been still floating in the imagination of the 
orator ; nor that they should have been thus reproduced in 
historic accuracy, not without some poetic effect, to illus- 
trate the legal argument. 

Critical editors have been perplexed to find the sources 
of the story of the " Tempest." Mr. White thinks the 
characters point to some old Italian or Spanish tale as its 
foundation ; Collins believed it was founded upon " a ro- 
mance called 'Aurelio and Isabella,' printed in Italian, Span- 
ish, French, and English, in 1588," which neither he nor 
any one else, it seems, has ever been able to find again ; 
others have traced its origin to Somers' " Voyage " and 
Jourdan's " Discovery " ; and probably the truth is, that 
suggestions were derived from a variety of sources, these 
included, and that the borrowed materials, mingled with the 
new creations, in passing through the limbec of his pow- 
erful brain, were distilled into an imaginary essence, alto- 
gether new and different as a whole, but still recognizable 
as the same in some parts and phases, which exhibit strik- 
ing ideal resemblances, close analogies, and even very pal- 
pable identities of thought, style, and diction. And here 
we may venture to make an application of the words of 
King Alonso in the play : — 

u Ahn. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; 
And there is in this business more than Nature 
Was ever conduct of. Some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge." 

This is not all. There are more instances of like kind 
in this same History, of which one or two may be cited. In 
the " Measure for Measure," written about the year 1603, 
we find this rather singular expression : — 

" For such a warped slip of wilderness 
Ne'er issued from his blood." — Act III. Sc. 1. 

And in the " History of Henry VII." Perkin Warbeck is 



126 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

made to say, " And from that hand to the wide wilderness 
(as I may truly call it) for so the world hath been to me;" 1 
and again, King Henry says, " France is no wilderness." 2 
And then we have this : " The King our master hath a 
purpose and determination to make war upon the kingdom 
of Naples, being now in the possession of a bastard slip 
of Aragon ; " 3 which may remind us again of " the blind 
rascally boy " Cupid, in the "As You Like It," 4 " that same 
wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, con- 
ceived of spleen, and born of madness." In like manner, 
we find in the Essays the following : " True friends ; with- 
out which the world is but a wilderness," 5 and in the 
New Atlantis, " the greatest wilderness of waters in the 
world ;" 6 and in a speech, "you take pleasure in a wilder- 
ness of variety." 7 And again, we have it in the plays, 
thus : " Environed with a wilderness of sea ; " 8 and again, 
" Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ; " 9 and still again, " I 
would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys." 10 
Can all this be accidental ? 

Still further, we have in the " Hamlet " these lines : — 

"Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by this sword. 
Earn. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' th' ground so fast? 
A worthy pioneer! once more remove " : — Act I. Sc. 5. 

which crops out again in the " Henry VII." thus : — 

"He had such moles perpetually working and casting to undermine 
him." 11 

And it appears again in a masque which he wrote for 

Essex, thus : — 

"They [lovers] are charged with descending too low: it is as the poor 
mole, which seeing not the clearness of the air, diveth into the darkness of 
the earth." 12 

i Hist. Henry VII. ; Works (Boston), XI. 246. 

2 Ibid. 181. 7 Works (Mont.), XIII. 121. 

3 Ibid. 162. 8 Titus Andr., Act III. Sc. 1. 

4 Act IV. Sc. 1. 9 Ibid., Act III. Sc. 1. 

6 Works (Boston), XII. 166. 10 Merck, of Venice, Act III. Sc. 1. 

6 Wwhs (Philad.), II. 323. " Works (Boston), XI. 360. 

12 Spedding's Letters and Life, I. 389. 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 127 

And again he says, — 

" and become some sorry book-maker, or a true pioneer in that 

mine of truth, which, he said, lay so deep." 1 

And again, in this History, speaking of the conditional 
treason of Sir William Stanley, who had said of Perkin 
Warbeck, "That if he were sure that that young man were 
King Edward's son, he would never bear arms against him? 
Bacon continues thus : — 

" But for the conditional, it seemeth the judges of that time (who were 
learned men, and the three chief of them of the privy counsel,) thought 
it was a dangerous thing to admit IfTs and Ands to qualify words of 
treason; whereby every man might express his malice, and blanch his 
danger." 2 

So in Richard's council on the Coronation, we have ar- 
illustration of this same kind of treason, in these lines : — 

" Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord, — 

Glos. If, thou protector of this damned strumpet, 
Talk'st thou to me of ' ifs ' ? — Thou art a traitor: — 
Off with his head ! " — Richard III., Act III. Sc. 4. 

But to make a special compliment to the throne and line 
of Henry YJL, and to his present Majesty, King James, in 
particular, a last grand effort is made, just when it will at 
least express his gratitude for the royal promise to succeed 
to the Attorney-General's place, and, at the same time, grace 
the nuptials of the Palatine branch in the Princess Eliz- 
abeth ; and the " Henry VIII." deliberately honors and 
magnifies the King himself, by carefully weaving into the 
scenes the surpassing excellence and beauty of Anne Bul- 
len (of whom there is nothing in Holinshed, from whom 
the rest of the story is almost literally taken), closing with 
the unrivalled virtues, fortune, and honor of her descend- 
ant, the virgin queen : — 

" Nor shall this peace sleep with her : but as when 
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
Her ashes new create another heir, 
As great in admiration as herself, 

1 Letter, 2 Works (Boston), XI. 228. 



128 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

So shall she leave her blessedness to one 

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness) 

Who from the sacred ashes of her honour 

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 

And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 

That were the servants of this chosen infant, 

Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: 

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 

His honour and the greatness of his name 

Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish, 

And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 

To all the plains about him." — Act V. Sc. 4. 

This is doubtless the same star and vine that are spoken of 
in the letter to his Majesty, thanking him for " his gracious 
acceptance " of his book (the " Novum Organum "), in 
which he says : — 

"I see your majesty is a star that hath benevolent aspect and gracious 
influence upon all things that tend to a general good. 

" ' Daphni, quid antiquos signorum suspicis artus? 
Ecce Dionaai processit Caesaris astrum ; 
Astrum, quo segetes gauderent frugibus, et quo 
Duceret apricis in collibus uva colorem.' 

[Virg., Eclog. ix. 46-9.] 

" This work, which is for the bettering of men's bread and wine, which 
are the characters of temporal blessings and sacraments of eternal, I hope, 
by God's holy providence, will be ripened by Caesar's Star." 1 

And it appears again, thus : — 

"Henry the Fifth! thy ghost I invocate; 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils! 
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make 
Than Julius Caesar." —1 Henry VI., Act L Sc. 1. 

Prospero, in the " Tempest," also had his star : — 

" Pros. and by my prescience 

I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star, whose influence 
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

That Bacon had the subject of the History of England 
much in mind, having long contemplated undertaking to 
1 Letter, 19 Oct. 1620; Works (Mont.), XII. 395. 



THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 129 

write it anew, we learn from his letter to the Lord Chancel- 
lor, written soon after the accession of King James, in which 
the following passage may be particularly cited here : — 

"The act I speak of is the order given by his majesty 
for the erection of a tomb or monument for our late sover- 
eign Queen Elizabeth ; wherein I may note much, but this 
at this time, that as her majesty did always right to his 
majesty's hopes, so his highness doth, in all things, right to 
her memory ; a very just and princely retribution. But 
from this occasion by a very easy ascent, I passed further, 
being put in mind, by this representative of her person, of 
the more true and more perfect representative which is of 
her life and government. For as statues and pictures are 
dumb histories, so histories are speaking pictures ; wherein 
(if my affection be not too great, or my reading too small), 
I am of this opinion, that if Plutarch were alive to write 
lives by parallels, it would trouble him, for virtue and for- 
tune both, to find for her a parallel amongst women. And 
though she was of the passive sex, yet her government was 
so active, as, in my simple opinion, it made more impres- 
sion upon the several states of Europe than it received 
from thence." * 

All this, it is easy to see, not only harmonizes well with 
the view here taken of these dramatic histories or " speak- 
ing pictures," but rings peculiarly like the sonorous trib- 
ute to Queen Elizabeth in the " Henry VIIL," which reads 
thus : — 

" Cran. Let me speak, sir, 

For Heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
Let none think flattery, for they Ml find 'em truth. 
This royal infant, — Heaven still move about her! — 
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be 
(But few now living can behold that goodness) 
A pattern to all princes living with her, 
And all that shall succeed : Saba was never 

i Letter, Works (Mont.), XII. 69. 



130 THE HISTORICAL PLAYS. 

More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue 

Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 

That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 

With all the virtues that attend the good, 

Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her; 

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 

She shall be lov'd and fear'd: her own shall bless her: 

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 

And bang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her. 

In her days every man shall eat in safety 

Under his own vine what he plants; and sing 

The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. 

God shall be truly known; and those about her 

From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 

And by those claim their greatness, not by blood." 

Act V. Sc. 4. 

And so King James is ingeniously represented, and with a 

certain degree of poetic truthfulness, as inheriting all this 

honor and virtue and greatness even from Henry VII., and 

from Anne Bullen, not by direct descent of blood, indeed, 

but through the ashes of this wonderful phoenix, as of that 

"more true and more perfect representative which is of 

her life and government." 

At the. same time, this illustrative example in a most 

dignified subject rounds out the historical series of those 

u actual types and models " which were " to place, as it 

were, before our eyes the whole process of the mind, and 

the continuous frame and order of discovery in particular 

subjects selected for their variety and importance " 1 (as I 

will endeavor to make appear) ; and this one should be 

" Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe." 

And having thus had occasion to make a study of this 
period of history, which he finds to be " wonderful, indeed, 
from the Union of the Roses to the Union of the King- 
doms," - the preceding period having already been treated 
of, poetically, in the " speaking pictures," and so far as lay 
in " the potential mood " ; and having the materials at hand 
for the work, as the first honors which he undertakes to do 
1 Introd. to Nov. Org. 2 De Aug. Sclent. Lib. II. c. 7. 



THE GREATER PLAYS. 131 

his country and his king by his pen and the help of those 
" other arts which may give form to matter," he not only 
takes up again his former sketch of the " History of Henry 
VII.," laid aside since before 1603, and perfects and com- 
pletes it into a tribute worthy to be submitted to " the file 
of his Majesty's judgment," and dedicated to Prince 
Charles as the first fruit of his banishment, which he ac- 
complishes in one summer, but also, the " History of Henry 
VIII.," in whose reign began that great change in the 
Church, which was u such as had hitherto rarely been 
brought upon the stage," * long since contemplated, of which 
a beginning, likewise, has already been made that is " like 
a fable of the poets " ; but deserves " all in a piece a wor- 
thy narration," and, time and health permitting, it is to be 
likewise dedicated to Prince Charles. But time fails him, 
and it is never done. 

§ 4. THE GREATER PLATS. 

Furthermore, it is to be observed, that the more philo- 
sophical and greater plays were written after 1600, when 
Bacon was more than forty years of age and in the maturity 
of his powers (as indeed William Shakespeare also must 
have been) ; when his philosophical and critical studies had 
become still more universal, exact, and profound ; when his 
conceptions of nature and the constitution of the universe, 
his theories of practical sciences, civil institutions, and 
moral relations, his views of society and humanity, his 
experience in human affairs and his observation of human 
life and character in all ranks, phases, conditions, and de- 
grees, had become more ample and perfect ; when his new 
rhetoric, his critical survey of all the arts of delivery, and 
his study of the nature of " true art," and of the uses and 
proper function of true poetry, had been matured, and his 
whole culture had become more elaborate, deep, and com- 
plete ; — a kind of culture which it is difficult to imagine 

1 De Aug. Sclent., Lib. II. c. 7. 



1S2 THE GREATER PLAYS. 

how William Shakespeare, under the conditions of life 
which environed him, could by any possibility have attained 
to. It is to be noted, also, that the first sketches of the 
three parts of the " Henry VI." (and perhaps, also, of the 
" King John "), the earliest plays of the historical series, 
written, it may be, before the entire plan was fully con- 
ceived, and before the first play in the historical order of 
the wars of the Roses, the " Richard II.," was produced, 
were taken up again, afterwards, and rewritten, greatly 
elaborated, and reproduced, in conformity with the rest of 
the series ; and, of the first part of the " Henry VI.," which 
exhibits greater care and maturity of judgment in the ex- 
ecution than the other parts, which, nevertheless, contain 
passages that may stand before the throne of the tragic 
muse beside the Greek tragedy itself without blushing, 
done in the finest lyric style of the ancients, and plainly 
intended to be, to some extent at least, in imitation of the 
classic model, we hear nothing, until it appears for the first 
time in the Folio of 1623, beyond the bare fact that such a 
play existed, in some form, with the other parts, at an early 
date. The " Romeo and Juliet," produced in 1595, though 
conceived on profoundly philosophical principles, bearing 
strong traces of the " Fable of Cupid" and the "Nemesis" 
of Francis Bacon (as will be shown), does not exhibit the 
same degree of matured strength and finish as the later 
productions, though one of the most attractive of the plays 
upon the stage. The " Midsummer Night's Dream," un- 
doubtedly written about the year 1594, though there ap- 
pears to be no certain mention of it before 1598, having 
been first printed in 1600, is a wonderful creation, indeed, 
and entirely fit to be performed, as it was, before the 
Queen's Majesty at Whitehall ; but the writer had not yet 
wholly freed himself from the shackles of rhyme, nor from 
the glowing fancy and " strong imagination " of 

" The lunatic, the lover, and the poet," 



THE GREATER PLAYS. 133 

nor from the philosophy of Cupid and the allurements of 
the Court, as is evident in these lines : — 

" Ober. That very time I saw (but thou could'st not), 
Flying between the cold moon and the Earth, 
Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal, throned by the West, 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon, 
And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

Between 1594 and 1600, the " Romeo and Juliet;' the 
"As You Like It," the " Richard III.," the " Merchant of 
Venice," and the two parts of the " Henry IV.," may take 
rank, in many respects, with the greater plays ; but after 
1600, come the < ; Twelfth Night," the " Othello," the " Ham- 
let," the " Measure for Measure," the " Lear," the " Mac- 
beth," the " Julius Caesar," the u Antony and Cleopatra," 
the " Troilus and Cressida," the " Coriolanus," the " Cym- 
beline," the " Winter's Tale," the " Tempest," the " Henry 
VIII.," and the " Timon," splendid dramas all, the most 
masterly productions of their author, and, beyond all ques- 
tion, the work of a profound thinker, a critical philosopher, 
a practised writer, a learned scholar, and a polished culture, 
as well as of that artistic genius and high order of intel- 
lectual endowment, which nature might give to any man. 
Twelve of these fifteen plays were published, for the first 
time, in the Folio of 1623 : of some four or five of them 
it is not positively known that they had been performed 
at all on the stage ; and nearly all of them were of such 
a kind and character as to attract less the attention of the 
theatre and the public, though really among the greatest of 
the author's works ; and they were not printed. Some 
other of the more philosophical plays, as the " Romeo and 
Juliet " the " Midsummer Night's Dream," the " Hamlet," 
ihe " Lear," and the " Measure for Measure," had more 



134 THE GREATER PLAYS. 

attractive qualities for the public eye and ear, perhaps, and 
they kept the stage and were printed. The " Troilus and 
Cressida," which was altogether too philosophically pro- 
found and stately, too learnedly abstruse and lofty, to be 
popular on the stage, was even printed first, and only went 
to the theatre afterwards, where its stay seems to have been 
short. 

Of the ten earlier plays which were first printed in the 
Folio, or first in complete form, some, it seems, had seldom 
appeared upon the stage, and others had been printed, at 
an early date, as first draughts, or as stolen copies. Of 
those which had been printed before 1623, there were, 
among the more attractive and popular plays on the stage, 
the u Richard II.," the " Richard III.," the " Merchant of 
Venice," the two parts of the " Henry IY.," the " Henry 
Y.," the " Love's Labor ? s Lost," and the " Much Ado About 
Nothing," and of these, printed editions had been more in 
demand. But this part of the subject is so dark, that it is 
difficult to arrive at any certain conclusion, or any clear 
notion, in what manner these plays came to be printed at 
all. Doubtless there were some stolen copies and surrep- 
titious editions, especially before 1600. The "Titus An- 
dronicus" was entered as early as 1594, but it is not known 
to have been printed before 1 600. The first sketch of the 
second part of the " Henry VI.," printed in 1594 under the 
title of " The First Part of the Contention of the Two Fa- 
mous Houses of York and Lancaster," and that of the third 
part, printed in 1595 under the style of u The True Trag- 
edy of Richard, Duke of York," both without the name of 
the author, were very probably surreptitious copies of the 
early plays, which appear to have been upon the stage as 
early, at least, as 1587-88. The " Merry Wives of Wind- 
sor," first printed in 1602, was so imperfect, even as a first 
sketch of the play, that it has been presumed by the critics 
to have been a stolen and mangled copy, as the " Hamlet " 
of 1603 most certainly was. So far as we have any posi- 



THE GREATER PLAYS. 135 

tive knowledge, the second edition of the " Richard II.," 
which was printed in 1598, with the scene of deposing 
King Richard left out, was the first one that bore the name 
of William Shakespeare on the title-page ; and there may 
have been some special reasons, as well for the publication 
of it at that time as for a close concealment of the real 
author's name (as we shall see below) ; especially when it 
is considered that, only one year later, Dr. Hay ward was 
actually sent to the Tower for publishing the " First Yeare 
of King Henry the Fourth," which contained little else 
than the deposing of Richard II., which the Queen took to 
be a seditious and treasonable pamphlet ; and that the 
Earl of Essex w T as charged with •• undutiful carriage " to- 
ward her Majesty, in that he allowed it to be dedicated to 
him ; though, on being warned of her anger, he had made 
all haste to have the book called in and suppressed. 

On the other hand, some of the previous quartos ap- 
proach so nearly to the more perfect copies of the Folio, 
and are so correctly printed, that it would seem to be highly 
probable that the author himself had had some hand in the 
supervision of the press. And when it is considered how 
many of those that had been printed in quarto were re- 
modelled, rewritten, enlarged, elaborated, corrected, or 
amended, before they appeared again in the Folio, and 
how many of the plays were published therein for the first 
time, and of what kind they were, we may easily believe, 
not only that the editors had much benefit from the pos- 
session of the " true original copies," but that even the true 
original copies themselves had undergone much revision 
and emendation, before they appeared for the last time in 
the finished and perfected form of the Folio of 1G23 ; nor 
need we be surprised at the announcement of the Preface, 
that they had so published them "as where (before) you were 
abused with divers stolne and surreptitious copies, maimed 
and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injurious im- 
posters, that exposed them : even those are now offered to 



136 ASSOCIATES. 

your view cured, and perfect of their limbes ; and all the 
rest, absolute in their numbers as he conceived them": 
omnibus numeris suis absolulam ! 

And that such was the fact, the history of the " Timon of 
Athens" may furnish at least some slight confirmation. It 
has been observed that the old play of " Timon " was the 
work of some other author altogether; and the studies of 
the later critics, especially Mr. Knight, have shown that the 
materials and the story of this play must have been drawn 
from other sources than that old play, or North's transla- 
tion of Plutarch ; and, in fact, that they came chiefly from 
the untranslated Greek of Lucian. There appears to be 
no mention on record of any performance of this play on 
the stage in those times, nor does the existence of it appear 
to have been known, until it was published in this Folio ; 
and (as it will be shown) there is so much in the matter 
and style of it that so aptly accords with the external his- 
tory of Lord Bacon's life, and especially with his later 
years, and so many distinct traces of himself in it, that it is 
not difficult to believe it was the latest production of his 
dramatic muse. 

§ 5. ASSOCIATES. 

That Francis Bacon, during the earlier portion of the 
period in which these plays were produced, comprising also 
nearly the whole period of the sonnets and minor poems, 
was an intimate personal friend, acquaintance, and associate 
of the Earls of Essex, Southampton, Rutland, Pembroke, 
and Montgomery, and other young lords and courtiers, w T ho 
were also, at the same time, the especial patrons and con- 
stant frequenters of Shakespeare's theatre, may be taken 
as an indubitable fact. Not only in the relations of these 
great personages, but in the manners of the court and time, 
there are many circumstances which tend strongly to con- 
firm the view here taken of this authorship. A few of 
them may be particularly noticed, even at the risk of some 



ASSOCIATES. 137 

slight repetition. It was in 1609 that the first authentic 
edition of the sonnets was dedicated by the printer to " Mr. 
W. EL," the only begetter of them, (supposed by Mr. Col- 
lier and others, no doubt correctly, to mean William Her- 
bert, Earl of Pembroke,) as " never before imprinted " ; 3 
the previous smaller edition having been in all probability 
surreptitiously published. Now it is worthy of mention, at 
least, that Pembroke, Rutland, and Montgomery, were 
witnesses to Bacon's patent of peerage in 1618, and were 
present at his investiture with the coronet of St. Alban in 
1621 ; and to Pembroke and Montgomery was dedicated 
the Folio of 1623. It is historically known that Bacon 
wrote sonnets to the Queen, and masques and devices to be 
exhibited before her. Plays, masques, and triumphs were 
frequently gotten up, sometimes in great magnificence, by 
these young lords and courtiers, for her entertainment at 
Court, at the Universities, at the Inns of Court, or at their 
own private houses, in which her greatest favorites took the 
leading interest and the largest part. Companies of play- 
ers were kept enrolled among the servants of the greater 
nobles, or were licensed under their patronage. Shake- 
speare's theatres received the royal countenance and pro- 
tection. The " Lord Chamberlain's Servants " of the 
Globe and Blackfriars, in the reign of Elizabeth, became 
" His Majesty's Servants," in the time of King James. 
Nor is there anything improbable in the supposition that 
the courtly Francis Bacon, who was so notoriously given to 
the writing of masques and sonnets for the edification of 
the virgin Queen, should exert his genius in this same 
direction far more extensively than was publicly known, or 
even suspected by the Queen herself. It is quite certain 
that some of the plays were performed, for the first time, 
before her Majesty at Whitehall and other palaces ; and, 
according to certain traditions, she seems to have taken an 

1 Shakes. Sonnets (Fac-simile of the ed. of 1609, from the Original in the 
Library of Bridgewater House), London, 1862. 



138 ASSOCIATES. 

especial delight in the fantastic wit and superb drolleries 
of the fat knight in the " Henry IV." and the " Merry 
"Wives of Windsor." King James appears to have taken 
equal pleasure in these dramatic entertainments. As we 
have seen, many of the plays were first performed before 
the King at Court, in his time. And the " Essay on 
Masques and Triumphs," and the several masques them- 
selves, which are certainly known to have been written by 
Bacon, afford proof enough that he had the ability, the 
Shakespearean wit, the same grace, brevity, and beauty of 
style, an imagination equally powerful, and a love for the 
sport. 

King James, on his coming into England in 1603, was 
entertained with a play performed by Heming's company, 
at Wilton, the country-seat of the Earl of Pembroke. The 
" Macbeth " was evidently suggested by the change of dy- 
nasty and the Scottish superstitions concerning demonol- 
ogy and witchcraft, on which King James had himself 
written a book; and the new sovereign is said to have 
acknowledged the compliment in an autograph letter ad- 
dressed to William Shakespeare, a document which seems 
never to have seen the light. " The system of Daemon- 
ologie," says Dr. Johnson's Preface, " was immediately 
adopted by all who desired either to gain preferment, or 
not to lose it." And it is worthy of notice, also, in this 
connection, that this play was written about the time that 
Bacon was made Solicitor-General ; and that the " Henry 
VHI." was produced in great splendor, with a studied com- 
pliment to King James, just when he had obtained the royal 
promise to succeed to the Attorney-General's place. Not 
that King James, or Queen Elizabeth, knew that Bacon 
was the author of these plays (though it might be difficult 
to name a reason why they should not have known), but 
that they may very well have understood, at least, that he, 
among other courtiers, was largely instrumental in getting 
up these magnificent entertainments for the royal amuse- 



ASSOCIATES. 139 

ment Both of them certainly knew that Bacon " had a 
great wit and much learning," and that he took a leading 
part in the actual composition of some of them. 

No more is it to be doubted, that the intimate personal 
relations which subsisted between Bacon and Essex ex- 
tended to Southampton as well. He was of Essex's party, 
and was his supporter in those wayward schemes which cul- 
minated in a treasonable attempt against the Queen's gov- 
ernment ; and he was a party accused in the prosecutions 
and trials which followed. Essex was beheaded ; South- 
ampton, only imprisoned in the Tower ; but soon after the 
accession of James, he was set at liberty. While yet in 
the Tower, Bacon addressed him the following letter : — 

" It may please your Lordship, — I would have been very glad 
to have presented my humble service to your Lordship by my 
attendance, if I could have foreseen that it should not have been 
unpleasing to you. And therefore, because I would commit no 
error, I chose to write ; assuring your Lordship how credible so- 
ever it may seem to you at first, yet it is as true as a thing that 
God knoweth ; that this great change hath wrought in me no other 
change towards your Lordship than this ; that I may safely be now 
that which I was truly before. And so craving no other pardon, 
than for troubling you with my letter, I do not now begin to be, 
but continue to be, 

" Your Lordship's humble and much devoted." 1 

On the accession of King James, the friends and follow- 
ers of Essex were taken into especial favor, while those 
who had been the favorites of Elizabeth were, for a time, 
held at a distance, Bacon among the rest, though very soon 
afterwards formally appointed to the place of King's Coun- 
sel, the first that had ever been, " under the degree of Ser- 
jeant, made so honoris causa" says Blackstone. 2 When the 
trials of Essex and Southampton for high treason came on, 
in the previous reign, Bacon, as one of the Queen's Coun- 

i Worlcs (Mont.), XII. 115. 
2 3 Black. Comm., 27. 



140 ASSOCIATES. 

sel, was constrained to take a part in them, much against 
his will, and by the express command of the Queen, " no- 
lens volens" his request to be excused being peremptorily 
refused, and for very curious reasons, as we shall see ; 
and, during her reign, it would have been neither judi- 
cious, nor advantageous, for either party, that Bacon should 
have interposed in their behalf, beyond what he actually 
did; and this they both well knew. It is no matter of 
wonder, that in such times and under such circumstances, 
private friendships should be compelled to go somewhat 
under cover, or even be converted into temporary dislike, 
by the course of political events. But now that things 
were changed, and his offers of service might be of some 
value, and without danger to either of them, Bacon does 
not hesitate to come forward, though with some delicate 
saving of the possibility that the feelings of his old friend 
towards him may have become estranged under the trying 
events which had taken place, with this assurance of his 
continuing personal regard ; notwithstanding that he had 
been compelled by considerations of honor and duty of 
higher obligation than any bond of private friendship what- 
ever, and most certainly higher than any obligation to fol- 
low a friend into unwise and criminal courses, to take some 
share, officially, in the trial and condemnation of their 
offences. We know that while Essex was under arrest at 
the Lord Keeper's house, in the autumn of 1599, Bacon 
incurred the Queen's displeasure on account of his persist- 
ent efforts to palliate Essex's conduct, mitigate her anger, 
and procure his restoration to her favor, not then believing 
in any treasonable design ; and he succeeded at length, not 
without some risk to his own fortunes, in bringing about 
his enlargement in the spring of the next year. And then, 
he addresses a letter of somewhat like kind to Essex, who 
had now, for some two years past, ceased to take counsel at 
Gray's Inn. The letter, as given by Mr. Spedding from an 
original in Bacon's own hand, runs thus : — 



ASSOCIATES. 141 

"My Lord, — No man can better expound nay doings than 
your Lordship, which maketh me need to say the less. Only I 
humbly pray you to believe that I aspire to the conscience and 
commendation first of bonus civis, which with us is a good and 
true servant to the Queen, and next of bonus vir, that is an hon- 
est man. I desire your Lordship also to think that though I con- 
fess I love some things much better than I love your Lordship, as 
the Queen's service, her quiet and contentment, her honour, her 
favour, the good of my country, and the like, yet I love few per- 
sons better than yourself, both for gratitude's sake, and for your 
own virtues, which cannot hurt but by accident or abuse. Of 
which my good affection I was ever and am ready to yield testi- 
mony by any good offices but with such reservations as yourself 
cannot but allow : for as I was ever sorry that your Lordship 
should fly with waxen wings, doubting Icarus' fortune, so for the 
growing up of your own feathers, specially ostrich's, or any other 
save of a bird of prey, no man shall be more glad. And this is 
the axletree whereupon I have turned and shall turn ; which to 
signify to you, though I think you are of yourself persuaded as 
much, is the cause of my writing ; and so I commend your Lord- 
ship to God's goodness. From Gray's Inn, this 20th day of July, 
1600. Your Lordship's most humbly, 

Fb. Bacon." i 

To this letter Essex returns a very courteous and friendly 
answer, in which he says : — 

" Your profession of affection, and offer of good offices, are 
welcome to me. For answer to them I will say but this : that you 
have believed I have been kind to you, and you may believe that 
I cannot be other, either upon humour or mine own election. I 
am a stranger to all poetical conceits, or else I should say some- 
what of your poetical example." 2 

This same poetical conceit reappears more than once in 
the plays, as for instance in the third part of the u Henry 
VI.," thus : — 

" Glos. "Why what a peevish fool was that of Crete, 
That taught his son the office of a fowl ? 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, II. 190-1. 2 Ihid, 192. 



142 ASSOCIATES. 

And vet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 
A". lien. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus." 

Act V. Sc. 6. 

What answer Southampton returned, does not appear ; 
but considering that personal relations of a confidential 
and peculiar nature and of special interest to both must 
have subsisted between them, underlying these merely 
political connections and state affairs, and that he had no 
just reason whatever for being offended with Bacon for his 
course in the political business, it is to be presumed that 
this assurance of his continuing friendship was received in 
the same spirit in which it was given. At any rate, it is 
certain that, after his liberation (though he was imprisoned 
again for a short time in 1603, on account of a sudden 
quarrel and high words with Lord Gray in the Queen's 
presence, 1 ) he was very soon entirely restored to favor, 
with a full restoration of his titles, and was made Warden 
of the New Forest for life, in 1607, 2 the same year in which 
Bacon himself was made Solicitor-General. In 1609, he 
was one of the famous Virginia Company, organized under 
the royal auspices for the planting of new colonies and 
making u new nations," of which Sir Francis Bacon was 
also a member; and in 1610, he became reconciled with 
Philip, Earl of Montgomery, who, as well as his brother, 
the Earl of Pembroke, was also a member of this Com- 
pany. And the Company's fleet, which sailed from the 
Thames, under Somers, in 1609, "met on its voyage at sea 
those singular and poetic storms and trials," which added 
" the still vexed Bermoothes " to the British Empire, and 
the " Tempest" to the world's literature. 3 

While this change in the state is taking place, we find 
Bacon making all reasonable efforts to gain a foothold with 
the new sovereign, and not without success in due time ; 

1 Nichols' Prog. K. James I., I. 198. 

2 Mem. of the Court of James /., by Lucy Aiken, II. 230-243. 

3 Pers. Hist, of Lord Btcon, by Dixon, 197-200. 



ASSOCIATES. 143 

and for a beginning we have this very notable letter, ad- 
dressed by him to " Master Davis, then gone to the King, 
at his first entrance " : — 

" Master Davis, — Though you went on the sudden, yet you 
could not go before you had spoken with yourself to the purpose, 
which I will now write. And therefore I know it shall be alto- 
gether needless, save that I meant to show you that I was not 
asleep. Briefly, I commend myself to your love and the wel] 
using my name ; as well in repressing and answering for me, if 
there be any biting or nibbling at it in that place ; as by imprint- 
ing a good conceit and opinion of me, chiefly in the King (of 
whose favour I make myself comfortable assurance) ; as otherwise 
in that court. And not only so, but generally to perform to me 
all the good offices, which the variety of your wit can suggest to 
your mind, to be performed to one, with whose affection you have 
so great sympathy ; and in whose fortune you have so great inter- 
est. So desiring you to be good to concealed poets, I continue." 1 

Now, this could be no other than Mr. John Davis of the 
Middle Temple (as the name is spelled by Nichols, or 
Davies, as it is written by Anthony Wood, Chalmers, and 
Craik), an Oxford scholar, and the distinguished poet, law- 
yer, judge, and statesman, already named as the author of 
" Nosce Teipsum, or the Immortality of the Soul," (pub- 
lished in 1599,) and one of the founders of the metaphysi- 
cal school of poetry of that day, who, having been expelled 
from the Middle Temple on account of a quarrel with Mr. 
Richard Martin, a brother wit and poet, who enjoyed the 
esteem of Selden and Ben Jonson, was restored to his 
chambers, in 1601, by the help of Lord Chancellor Eger- 
ton (Ellesmere), the friend of Bacon ; who went with Lord 
Hunsdon to meet the King in Scotland on his first entrance, 
and, on being presented to the king as the author of that 
poem, was embraced with great favor, and immediately 
" sworn his man," in March, 1603. He was soon after sent 
to Ireland as Solicitor- General, where he became a judge 
1 Worls (Mont.), VII. 114. 



144 ASSOCIATES. 

of assize; was knighted in 1608, made a King's Serjeant 
in 1G12, elected to Parliament in 1620, and was on the 
point of being raised to the King's Bench, when he died in 
1626. According to Anthony Wood, he " was held in es- 
teem by the noted scholars of the time, as W. Cambden, Sir 
Jo. Harrington the poet, Ben Jonson, facete Hoskins," and 
others ; and at the date of this letter, which ' by the address' 
must have been written some time in March, 1603, it is 
evident that he was so intimate with Francis Bacon that it 
was presumed he would understand what was meant when 
he was desired " to be good to concealed poets " ! * 

Of this same metaphysical school was the learned poet, 
John Donne, a Cambridge man, who had been admitted to 
Lincoln's Inn, and accompanied the Earl of Essex on his 
expedition to Cadiz in 1596, and against the Islands in 1597, 
and, on his return to England, became the chief secretary 
of Lord Chancellor Egerton (Ellesmere), and an inmate of 
his family ; whence it is hardly possible he should not have 
been well acquainted with Francis Bacon. He afterwards 
took orders and became Preacher at Lincoln's Inn, and 
subsequently Dean of St. Paul's ; but there seems to be no 
particular mention of his acquaintance with Bacon, beyond 
the statement of Nichols, that on the 24th of March 1617— 
18, the Lord Chancellor Bacon (whom Ellesmere had rec- 
ommended for his successor), the Earl of Southampton, 
Secretary Winwood, and others, attended St. Paul's to hear 
a sermon from Dr. Donne. 

It is pretty certain, however, that, in the list of these 
associates, there were some other persons, Essex and South- 
ampton among them, who would have understood this letter 
equally well. In a familiar letter addressed to Essex, in 
January 1595, while the question of the Solicitorship was 
still pending, Bacon throws in a similar allusion, thus : 
" Desiring your good Lordship nevertheless not to con- 

i Nichols' Prog. K. James /., I. 52; II. 198 n. (1), London, 1828; Wood's 
Athen. Oxon., II. 400; Chalmers' Eng. Poets, V. 75. 



ASSOCIATES. 145 

ceive out of this my diligence in soliciting this matter that 
1 am either much in appetite or much in hope. For as for 
appetite, the waters of Parnassus are not like the waters 
of the Spaw, that give a stomach ; but rather they quench 
appetite and desires." 1 What had Francis Bacon to do 
with the waters of Parnassus ! or was it the writer of these 
very letters that put into the mouth of Rosalind in the play 
this expression also ? " One inch of delay more is a South- 
sea of discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me. who is it? quickly, 
and speak apace : I would thou could'st stammer, that thou 
might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine 
comes out of a narrow-necked bottle ; either too much at 
once, or none at all." 2 In general, the use of the same 
word, in a single instance, may be accidental, or common, 
and proves nothing ; but the peculiar use of a particular 
author may be such as to mark his individuality, as again 
in these lines : — 

" Kent. Some dear cause 

Will in concealment wrap me up awhile." 

Lear, Act IV. Sc. 3. 

It has already been observed that there is a striking 
general resemblance between the style and manner of the 
Dedication and Preface to the Folio and that of Bacon and 
the plays themselves. The dedicatory epistles to Southamp- 
ton, prefixed to the " Venus and Adonis" and the " Rape 
of Lucrece," being very brief, not much can be founded 
on any critical comparison of the styles ; but there is 
here, again, a striking similitude to the manner of Bacon. 
The prop is a frequent source of metaphor in the plays, 
and it is a favorite word and figure, as also the word pillar, 
in the writings of Bacon. In one of his earlier works, he 
says : " I remember in a chamber in Cambridge, that was 
something ruinous, a pillar of iron was erected for a 
prop ; " 8 and this same pillar and prop seem to have 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, I. 345. 

2 As You Like It, Act III. Sc. 2. 

3 Works (Mont.), XV. 232. 

10 



146 ASSOCIATES. 

lived in his imagination. It appears in the epistle dedica- 
tory of the " Venus and Adonis," thus : " I know not how 
the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to 
support so weak a burthen." In a letter to the King, we 
find this expression : " For in that other poor prop of my 
estate, which is the farming of the petty writs ; " so, in 
Shakespeare, we have like expressions : — 

"Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon." — 3 Henry VI. 

" Two props of virtue for a Christian." — Richard III, Act II. Sc. 7. 

And again, — 

" Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of my age, my 
very prop. 

Laun. [Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a 
prop V " — Merchant of Venice, Act II. Sc. 4. 

And again, — 

" You take my house when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house." — Ibid., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

And speaking of those u illustrative examples " and that 
" true art," in which there was to be some departure from 
"the customary fashion," Bacon remarks in the Scaling 
Ladder, that " the industry and happiness of man" are 
not to be " indissolubly bound, as it were, to a single pil- 
lar " ; and in his " Observations on a Libel," he uses the 
expression, " their ancient pillar of lying wonders being de- 
cayed." And this same pillar is a frequent figure in Shake- 
speare, as thus : — 

" And call them pillars that will stand to us." 

3 Henry VI., Act II. Sc. 5. 
And again, — 

" I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment." 

Merchant of Venice, Act IV. Sc. 1. 

By itself alone, this use of a single word, or figure, might 
very well be deemed a trivial coincidence, or the mere 
result of common use ; but when it is found that this is a 



ASSOCIATES. 147 

favorite metaphor in both, and only one of innumerable 
similitudes of like or even much stronger kind in these 
writings, it may come to have some significance. In the 
Dedication to the " Rape of Lucrece," the writer says: 
" What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours ; 
being part in all I have devoted yours ; " — a declaration 
which is at least consistent enough with the plan of the 
supposed arrangement. 



CHAPTER HI. 

FURTHER PROOFS. 

" Now for the Athenian question ; you discourse well, Quid igitur agendum est ? 
I will shoot my fool's bolt, since you will have it so." — Bacon to Essex (1598). 

"Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much — A fool's bolt is soon 
3hot.» — Henry F., Act III. Sc. 7, (1599). 

§ 1. PARALLEL WORKS. 

Francis Bacon was engaged, during the same period 
and afterwards, in writing and publishing works in prose 
on kindred and parallel subjects, as for instance, in partic- 
ular, his Masques, the Essays, the Fable of Cupid, the 
Wisdom of the Ancients, the New Atlantis, the Happy 
Memory, the Discourse in Praise of the Queen, the Char- 
acters of Julius and Augustus Caesar, the Histories of 
Henry VII. and Henry VIII., the Advancement of Learn- 
ing, his Speeches, and the Great Installation of Science 
and Philosophy ; indeed, the whole of his works may come 
into the comparison, not excepting the Novum Organum 
itself. He was sounding all the depths and hidden mys- 
teries of Nature, threading the labyrinth of all philosophy, 
and scaling with ladders the heights of the empyrean. A 
critical comparison of these writings with the plays and 
poems in question, it is firmly believed, will be sufficient to 
satisfy any reasonable mind, at all competent to judge of 
such a matter, not merely of that general resemblance 
which has been long ago frequently observed, and always 
attributed to the common usage and style of that age, but 
of such close similitudes in the thought, style, and diction 
as to leave no room for doubt of the absolute identity of the 



PARALLEL WORKS. 149 

authorship. The Essays, the Wisdom of the Ancients, the 
Letters, the Advancement of Learning, the Henry VIL, and 
the New Atlantis, especially, abound in parallel topics, 
similar peculiarities of idea, like diction, and identical ex- 
pressions ; and the same solidity, brevity, and beauty of 
style and manner, and a like power of imagination, pervades 
them all. It is scarcely possible to doubt, for instance, that 
the Essay on Masques and Triumphs came from the same 
mind as Hamlet's instructions to the players, nor that the 
" Winter's Tale " came from the same source as the Essay 
on Gardens. 

The " New Atlantis " w r as w T ritten as one of his feigned 
histories, or natural stories, or types and models, and with 
a main purpose of illustrating the new doctrines and meth- 
ods, which the author was endeavoring to institute, and to 
present, as it were, a model of his idea of a College of 
the Universal Science. It is said to have given origin to 
the Royal Society of London, which is, however, an insti- 
tution of somewhat different kind and scope. 

On a general comparison of this work w T ith the " Tem- 
pest," the similitude of the one to the other, in many points 
of the story, the leading ideas, the scene and conception of 
the whole, is very evident ; and some parts of it may be 
traced in the u Timon of Athens." Like the island of At- 
lantis, Prospero's isle is situated afar off in the midst of 
the ocean, somewhere near " the still vex'd Bermoothes," 
but hitherto remote from all visitation of civilized men. 
Prospero, in his " full poor cell," where all the mysteries 
of science and the secrets of Nature are unfolded to him, 
attended by his master-spirit, Ariel, the genius of knowl- 
edge, is but another Solomon, with " an aspect as if 
he pitied men," in his House or College of the Six Days 
Works, in the island of Atlantis. Prospero, like Democ- 
ntus and Anaxagoras, seems to have believed that " the 
truth of nature lieth hid in certain deep mines and caves," 1 

1 Adv. of Learning, WorTcs (Mont.), II- 131. 



150 PARALLEL WORKS. 



i 



and his oracles, like those delivered to the Indian Prince 
in the Masque, came out of " one of the holiest vaults " ; 1 
as Polonius says, in the play : — 

" If circumstances lead me, I will find 
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre." —Hamlet, Act II. Sc. 2. 

Bacon frequently alludes to that " feigned supposition 
that Plato maketh of the cave." 2 Indeed, the cave, as we 
know, was a traditional source of the divinest wisdom with 
the ancient philosophers and poets. Plato takes his disci- 
ple into a dark cave, in order to bring to light some of the 
abstrusest doctrines and innermost secrets of his divine 
philosophy. Tasso's learned magician, Ubaldo, who was 
born a Pagan, but was regenerated by divine grace, 
also had his secret seat in a hidden cave, wherein he was 
yet not far from heaven ; nor were his wonderful works 
done in virtue of infernal spirits, but of the study of 
Nature : — 

" Ma spiando men vo da lor vestigi, 
Qual in se virtu cell o Terba o '1 fonte: 
E gli altri arcani di Natura ignoti 
Contemplo, e delle stelle i varii moti. 

XLIII. Perocche no ognor lunge dal' cielo 
Tra sotterranei chiostri e la mia stanza." 

Giur. Lib. XIV. 42-3. 

In the conception of Caliban, the author clearly intends 
to shadow forth his views of the savage island races, ethno- 
logically considered, and he discloses the idea, which was 
doubtless Bacon's opinion, as it was that of Plato, that 
these savages were indigenous to the soil on which they 
werie found, and that the races of men, like the rest of the 
animal kingdom, were created in distinct centres, or had a 
separate development, on different continents, and on a grad- 
uated scale of ascending types of form, rising by degrees, 

i Masque ; Spedding's Letters and Life, I. 388. 
2 Adv. of Learning, Bk. II. 



PARALLEL WORKS. 151 

in the course of " a length and infinity of time," 1 from apes 
to savages, and from savages to the higher types of civil- 
ized men ; as the science of paleontology now more clearly 
demonstrates, according to the principles of zoology, and 
-dccorclino- to the Transcendental Architectonic of the Divine 
Idea ; — of all which he had been able to obtain something 
more than a mere hint even from Plato. And so he writes 
down Caliban 

"A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick." — Tempest, Act IV. Sc. 1. 

The " Midsummer-Night's Dream " is a work somewhat 
like in character, in which the writer evidently means to 
exhibit, not merely the invisible spirit of Nature under 
various forms of fable, but also the first dawnings of a 
human intelligence, even in the lower animals, and the* 
effect of Orpheus' music and " universal philosophy " upon 
them, when u they all stood about him gently and sociably, 
as in a theatre, listening only to the concords of his lyre," 
which could " draw the wild beasts and the woods " ; — for 
" Orpheus himself, — a man admirable and truly divine, 
who being master of all harmony, subdued and drew all 
things after him by sweet and gentle measures, — may pass 
by an easy metaphor for philosophy personified " ; 2 — and 
also the universal nature of love, after the accounts which 
Bacon says are "given by the poets of Cupid or Love," 
which "are not properly applicable to the same person," 
the ancient Cupid being different from the younger Cupid, 
the son of Venus ; " yet the discrepancy is such that one 
may see where the confusion is and where the similitude, 
and reject the one and receive the other." 3 And so Titania 
says to " Bottom with an ass' head," — 

11 1 11 give thee fairies to attend on thee; 
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
And sing while thou on pressed flowers doth sleep : 

l Plato. 2 jrisj, f the Anc. (Orpheus), Works (Boston), XIII. 110. 

s Ibid. (Cupid), 122. 



152 PARALLEL WORKS. 

And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, 

That thou shalt like an airy spirit go." — Act III, Sc. 1. 

And again : 

u Tit, What, wilt thou hear some music, sweet love? 

Bot. I have a reasonably good ear in music: let us have the 
tongs and bones. 

Tit. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 

Ober. There lies your love. 

Tit. How came these things to pass ? 

0, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 

Ober. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off his head. 
Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep, of all these five, the sense. 

Tit. Music, ho ! music ! such as charmeth sleep." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

" For," continues Bacon, " as the works of wisdom surpass 
in dignity and power the works of strength, so the labours 

of Orpheus surpass the labours of Hercules And 

all this went on for some time with happy success and great 
admiration ; till at last certain Thracian women, under the 
stimulation and excitement of Bacchus, came where he 
was ; and first they blew such a hoarse and hideous blast 
upon a horn, that the sound of his music could no longer 
be heard for the din : whereupon the charm being broken 
that had been the bond of that order and good-fellowship, 
confusion began again ; the beasts returned each to his 
several nature and preyed one upon the other as before; 
the stones and woods stayed no longer in their places : while 
Orpheus himself was torn to pieces by the women in their 
fury, and his limbs scattered about the fields: at whose 
death, Helicon (river sacred to the Muses) in grief and 
indignation buried his waters under the earth, to reappear 
elsewhere." x With which compare these allusions in the 
play, 2 in which Hercules, Bacchus, Orpheus, and the Thra- 
cian women crop out in the same order, thus : — 

1 Wisd. of the Anc. (Orpheus), Works (Boston), XIII. 111. 
58 The italics are those of the play. 



PARALLEL WORKS. 153 

"Phil. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe; 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 

[Giving a paper, 

Lys. [Reads.] t The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.'' 

Thes. We '11 none of that : that have I told my love, 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 

Lys. ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.'' 

Thes. That is an old device ; and it was play'd 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 

Lys. ' The thrice three Muses mourning for the death 
Of learning, late deceased in beggary.' 

Thes. That is some satire, keen and critical, 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 

Lys. '^4. tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 
And his love Thisbe : very tragical mirth.' 

Thes. Merry and tragical ! Tedious and brief! 
That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. 
How shall we find the concord of this discord? " — Act V. Sc. 1. 

How shall we discover " where the confusion is and where 
the similitude " ! 

The younger Cupid, however, according to Bacon, " ap- 
plied the appetite to an individual object. From Venus, 
therefore, comes the general disposition, from Cupid the 
more exact sympathy. Now the general disposition depends 
upon causes near at hand, the particular sympathy upon 
principles more deep and fatal, and as if derived from that 
ancient Cupid, who is the source of all exquisite sympathy." 1 
And so, we have it in the play, thus : — 

u Lys. [Hermia], for aught that ever I could read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history, 
The course of true love never did run smooth ; 
e. But, either it was different in blood, — 

Her. cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low! 

Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; — 

Her. spite ! too old to be engaged to young ! 

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of merit : — 

Her. Hell ! to choose love by another's eyes ! 

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 

1 Wisd. of the Anc. (Cupid), Works (Boston), XIII. 125. 



154 PARALLEL WORKS. 

Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, 
Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say, — ' Behold ! ' 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up: 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If, then, true lovers have been ever crossed, 
It stands as an edict in destiny." — Act I. Sc. 1. 

Wherein we have a repetition of this same confusion, 
this sympathy, and these principles more deep and fatal. 
And for this play, the scene shall be "Athens ; and a wood 
not far from it." It is very much such a scene as that of 
"the Forest of Arden," in the "As You Like It," or that 
of the " Timon," which was "Athens ; and the woods adjoin- 
ing"; but the object, in this play, is "the culture and cure 
of the mind," in respect of this matter of love, and not 
now " in points of fortune." And the subject compasses 
the entire scale of being, and stretches, in like manner as in 
the " Timon," from " the woodlands, as it were, of nature," 
even into the commonwealth of Athens, and endeavors " to 
climb by regular succession to the height of things, like so 
many tops of mountains." * At least, the writer will him- 
self view the subject from these tops and these "uppermost 
elevations of nature, where his station will be serene " and 
his " prospects delightful," as from that cliff of Plato, which, 
says Bacon, was " raised above the confusion of things : " — 

" We will, fair Queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip I never heard 

So musical a discord, such sweet thunder." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

But the scene is, for the most part, in " a wood near 
Athens," where fairies and spirits " do wander everywhere, 

for 

"Our intent 
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might 

1 Scaling-ladder. 



PARALLEL WORKS. 155 

Without the peril of the Athenian law — 

Ege. Enough, enough ! my lord, you have enough. 
I beg the law, the law, upon his head." — Act I V. Sc. 1. 

And we are now to be taken into the very region of this 

Love, which is " the appetite or instinct of primal matter," 

says Bacon, " or, to speak more plainly, the natural motion of 

the atom; which is indeed the original and unique force 

that constitutes and fashions all things out of matter;" as 

in the imagery of these lines of the "As You Like It," 

thus : — 

"Phebe. . . . Thou tell'st me there is murther in my eye; 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
That eyes, that are the frail 1 st and softest things, 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, 
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers! " — Act III. Sc. 5. 

" For," continues the philosopher, u the summary law of 
nature, that impulse of desire impressed by God upon 
the primary particles of matter which makes them come 
together, and which by repetition and multiplication pro- 
duces all the variety of nature, is a thing which mortal 
thought may glance at, but can hardly take in " : 1 — 

" Tit. . . . Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 2 
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
Gently entwist ; the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

And again, in the " As You Like It " : — 

"Bos. There's a girl goes before the priest: and, certainly, a woman's 
thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Even the animals partake of the universal enchantment 
in this play : — 

" When in that moment (so it came to pass), 
Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass." — Act III, Sc. 2. 

i Wisd. oftheAnc.{ Cupid), Works (Boston), XIII. 123. 

2 Mr. White reads, " be a while away," adopting one of Collier's forgeries, 
which is too tame : it was of the very nature of these fairies, representing 
the spirit of universal Nature, to be " all ways away." 



156 PARALLEL WORKS. 

But, says the philosopher again, " the fable relates to the 
cradle and infancy of nature, and pierces deep/' and we 
shall have a play, now, which shall be 

" As the remembrance of an idle gawd, 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon " ; — 

and things 

" More strange than true: I never may believe 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact " : — Act V. Sc. 1. 

like a child ; for Cupid " is described with great elegance 
as a little child, and a child forever ; for things compounded 
are larger and are affected by age ; whereas the primary 
seeds of things, or atoms, are minute, and remain in per- 
Detual infancy." — * 

" Tlies. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity 
In least speak most, to my capacity. 1 ' — Act V. Sc. 1. 

And therefore, we will have here a dumb show of " Wall 
and Moonshine," and a mere piece of child's play : — 

"Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
Thes. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worse are no 
worse, if imagination amend them." — Act V. Sc. 1. 



u Dem. These things seem small, and undistinguishable, 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 

Her. Methinks I see things with parted eye, 
When every thing seems double. 

Eel. So methinks: 

And I have found Demetrius, like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dem. It seems to me 

That yet we sleep, we dream." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Very like ; but, nevertheless, " all compounds (to one 
that considers them rightly) are masked and clothed 

1 Wisd. of the Anc. (Cupid), Works (Boston), XIII. 124. 



PARALLEL WORKS. 157 

The blindness, likewise, of Cupid, has an allegorical mean- 
ing full of wisdom. For it seems that this Cupid, whatever 
he be, has very little providence ; but directs his course, 
like a blind man groping, by whatever he finds nearest; 
which makes the supreme divine Providence all the more 
to be admired, as that which contrives out of subjects pecu- 
liarly empty and destitute of providence, and as it were 
blind, to educe by a fatal and necessary law all the order 
and beauty of the universe M i 1 

"Bel Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
Love can transpose to form and dignity : 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind: 
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; 
"Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste: 
And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
Because in choice he often is beguiLd. 
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 
So the boy Love is perjur'd everywhere." — Act 1. Sc. 2. 

And, 

" When they next wake, all this derision 
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision; 
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
With league, whose date till death shall never end." 

Act III. Sc. 2. 
And the whole thing, 

" Such tricks hath strong imagination," 

shall pierce so deep, that ,4 it shall be called Bottom's 
dream, because it hath no bottom " ; for this Cupid is, " next 
to God, the cause of causes — itself without a cause." 2 
And such certainly is the judgment of the sacred philos- 
opher, when he says, " He hath made all things beautiful 
according to their seasons ; also he hath submitted the 
world to man's inquiry, yet so that men cannot find out the 
work which God worketh from the beoinnin£ to the end." 8 
And again, we have a touch of this same deep-sounding 
philosophy, in the " As You Like It," thus : — 

l Wisd. of the Anc. (Cupid), 125. 2 itid. (Cupid), 123. 

8 Essay of the Vicissitude of Things. 



158 PARALLEL WORKS. 

"Ros. coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how 
many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection 
hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as you pour affection in, it runs out. 

Bos. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, 
conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that 
abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge how deep 
I am in love." — Act 1 V. Sc. 1. 

The object and purpose of these plays may receive some 
further illustration from the following account of Orpheus' 
Theatre, where, says Bacon, " all beasts and birds assembled, 
and forgetting their several appetites, some of prey, some 
of game, some of quarrel, stood all sociably together, listen- 
ing to the airs and accords of the harp ; the sound whereof 
no sooner ceased, or was droiuned by some louder noise, 
but every heart returned to his own nature : wherein is 
aptly described the nature and condition of men, who are 
full of savage and unreclaimed desires of profit, of lust, of 
revenge ; which as long as they give ear to precepts, to 
laws, to religion, sweetly touched with eloquence and per- 
suasion of books, of sermons, of harangues, so long is 
society and peace maintained ; but if these instruments be 
silent, or that sedition and tumult make them not audible, 
all things dissolve into anarchy and confusion." * 

This last expression may call to mind the " Tempest," in 
which all things were to dissolve and "leave not a rack 
behind," and " deeper than did ever plummet sound," he 
would drown his book ; which word drown, having got much 
into use with the writer, will drop out occasionally even in 
much graver works : as when he speaks of the Lord Chan- 
cellor Morton, who proposed a law against conspiring the 
death of a King's Counsellor, as " drowning the envy of 
it in a general law." 2 

And this same teaching, drawn from " Orpheus' Theatre,'' 
reappears more largely in the "Merchant of Venice," 
thus : — 

1 Adv. of Learn.; Works (Mont.), II. 177. 

2 History of Henry VII. ; Works (Boston), XI. 131. 



PARALLEL WORKS. 159 

"Lor. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! 
Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of Heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: 
Such harmony is in immortal souls; 
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

Enter Musicians. 

Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn: 

"With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 

And draw her home with music. [Music* 

Jess. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive : 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood; 
If they but hear, perchance, a trumpet sound, 
Or any air of music touch their ears, 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand. 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; 
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not^ Jftoved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils: 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
And his affections dark as Erebus. 
Let no such man be trusted. —Mark the music." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

Here, we have not only the same general scope of thought, 
ideas, and imagery, but certain particular and unmistakable 
earmarks by which we may know the identity of the writer ; 
as for instance, in the use of the phrases " sweet power of 
music " and " concord of sweet sounds," " sweetly touched " 
and " sweetest touches," the words " savage " and " silent," 
the sound of " a trumpet " heard and a " hideous blast upon 



160 PARALLEL WORKS. 

a horn," the " motions of his spirit " and " the natural mo- 
tion of the atom," and the discourse running on " the 
affections " ; and in the prose, when the music ceases, every 
heart returns " to his own nature " ; but in the poetry, 
" music for the time doth change his nature." And indeed 
the careful reader, who is familiar with his style and manner 
and diction, cannot fail to recognize him in every line. 

Similar ideas touching the history of the human race 
and the order of divine providence in the creation are con- 
tained elsewhere in the writings of Bacon. Concerning the 
countries of the New World, then lately discovered, he 
says, "the great winding-sheets that bury all things in 
oblivion are two : deluges and earthquakes." * He thought 
it probable that the people of the West Indies were "a 
newer and younger people than the people of the old 
world " ; and he says, " it is much more likely that the 
destruction that hath heretofore been there was not by 
earthquakes (as the Egyptian priest told Solon concerning 
the Island of Atlantis, that it was swallowed by an earth- 
quake), but rather that it was desolated by a particular 

deluge Their Andes, likewise, or mountains, are 

far higher than those with us ; whereby it seems that the 
remnants of generation of men \j reliquias stirpis hominum '] 
were in such a particular deluge saved": 2 

" Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
(For certes, these are people of the island) 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay. almost any. 

Pros. [Aside.'] Honest lord, 

Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present, 
Are worse than devils." — Tempest, Act III, Sc. 3, 

He thus distinctly intimates an opinion that the races of 

1 Essay of the Vicissitude of Things. 

* Essays, Works (Mont.), I. 187-9 ; Works (Boston), XII. 274. 



PARALLEL WORKS. 161 

mankind, on different continents, had been subjected in 
each to a distinct series of geological changes in the surface 
of the globe, implying that the history of their origin must 
be carried so far back into " the dark backward and abysm of 
time " as to exhaust the antiquity of all historical, archaeo- 
logical or ethnological data, reaching far beyond the remo- 
test tradition that has floated down on the stream of human 
memory even into purely geological time, and into the very 
"winding-sheets of oblivion," and that river of Lethe, 
which, he says, "runneth as well above ground as below"; 
an opinion that is fully confirmed by the later and more 
certain scientific demonstrations. " But," he continues, 
" in the other two destructions, by deluge and earthquake, 
it is further to be noted, that the remnant of people which 
happen to be reserved, are commonly ignorant and moun- 
tainous people, that can give no account of the time past ; 
so that the oblivion is all one as if none had been 
left"* — 

" Gon. When we were boys, 

Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em 
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men, 
Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find 
Each putter-out on five for one will bring us 
Good warrant of." — Tempest, Act III. Sc. 3. 

In these opinions we may discover traces, also, of Plato's 
account of the origin of the human race, which he con- 
ceived to be " from a length and infinity of time, and the 
mutations in it," and that there had been " frequent destruc- 
tions of the human race through deluges and diseases and 
many other events, in which some small family of mankind 
was left"; and " that those who then escaped the destruc- 
tion, were nearly some hill-shepherds, preserved on the 
tops (of mountains) like some slight fire preserving (care- 
less) of the human race " ; x that is, saved not so much by 
human care as by the divine providence ; an opinion, by 

i Laws, Book III. ; Works of Plato (Bohn), V. 78. 
11 



162 PARALLEL WORKS. 

the way, that comes much nearer the truth of the matter 
than most modern inquiry. 

So Bacon seems to have believed that some time far 
back in the series of these particular deluges, one con- 
tinent or island may have been peopled from another, as 
when " the foul witch," Sycorax, with age and envy " grown 
into a hoop," mother of the " dull thing," Caliban, the born 
devil, on whose nature "nurture can never stick," came 
from Africa, banished " from Argier " to that uninhabited 
island which lay off somewhere toward "the still-vex'd 
Bermoothes " : — 

" Then was this island, 
(Save for the son that she did litter here, 
A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with 
A human shape." — Tempest, Act /. Sc. 2. 

He agreed also with Aristotle, that there was a difference 
between the races of men, inhabiting different parts of the 
earth, and between man and man, not unlike that which 
exists between man and animals. " But for my part,'* says 
he, " I take it neither for a brag nor for a wish, but for a 
truth as he limiteth it. For he saith if there be found such 
an inequality between man and man as there is between 
man and beast, or between soul and body, it investeth a 
right of government : which seemeth rather an impossible 
case than an untrue sentence. But I hold both the judg- 
ment true and the case possible ; and such as hath had, and 
hath a being, both in particular men and nations." And the 
play even ventures to go farther still, and to hint at a dif- 
ference as wide as a difference of species in the genus 
(wherein, again, our modern science is also not far behind 
him) thus: — 

" 1 Mur, We are men, my liege. 

Macb. At, in the catalogue ye go for men, 
As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, 
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are clep'd 
All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 



PARALLEL WORKS. 163 

According to the gift which bounteous Nature 
Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the bill 
That writes them all alike: and so of men." 

Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 1. 

These learned investigations, together with the Sum- 
mary (or Higher) Philosophy, of which Bacon had some 
knowledge, but of which such a man as William Shakes- 
peare could have had but little notion, might lead up the 
author of the " Tempest " and the " Midsummer Night's 
Dream/' beyond the Scriptural allegories of Noah's Ark 
and the Garden of Eden, to those more comprehensive and 
more profoundly philosophical conceptions of things, which 
are distinctly imaged forth in these beautiful dramas. At 
the same time, it will be borne in mind that the " Midsum- 
mer Night's Dream " was written as early as 1594, and the 
"Tempest" in 1611, while the "New Atlantis" was not 
written until after 1620, and the "Wisdom of the Ancients" 
was first printed (in Latin) in 1610 ; and this effectually 
excludes all possibility that William Shakespeare could 
have borrowed from Bacon in the writing of these plays. 
And the like is true in many other instances. On the other 
hand, like instances will be given to show, that Francis 
Bacon could not have borrowed from Shakespeare, other- 
wise than from himself. '/ 

Furthermore, it may be observed, in this connection, 
that those remarkable passages, which are most frequently 
quoted by the great lights of modern literature in proof of 
the deep insight of Shakespeare and his superiority as a 
poet, may be taken as evidence that the writer had attained 
to those deeply metaphysical ideas concerning the constitu- 
tion of the universe and the nature and destiny of man in 
it, which have been entertained in any age, as they now are, 
by a small number of the profoundest thinkers and most 
rare and learned men only. The writings of Bacon, care- 
fully studied, will show that he was familiar with these 
heights and depths, and that, having lighted his torch at 



> 



164 PARALLEL WORKS. 

the glorious sun of Plato (not neglecting Aristotle), he was, 
with that illumination and the help of his own newer 
methods, exploring " the universal world/' and endeavoring 
to instaurate, as it were in advance, not the experimental 
science merely, but the higher philosophy of the XlXtb 
century. Without the help of such studies, there is no 
possibility, now, for any man to attain to this philosophy ; 
much less William Shakespeare, or even Bacon himself, in 
that age. That Shakespeare had ever turned his attention 
at all to studies which lay in that direction, we have no 
other proof than w T hat the plays themselves afford; but, 
on the contrary, we have pretty decisive evidence, in his 
personal history, that he could never have done so. There 
was no other man of that time but Bacon that we know of, 
who had done so to the same extent as he ; for even that 
Platonic thinker and poet, George Herbert, is not to be 
excepted ; or if there be any exception, he will be found to 
have been, like Sidney, Greville, Sackville, Raleigh, Her- 
bert, Hooker, Selden, Donne, or Cudworth, a child of the 
University, that could bring to his work as an author the 
discipline and finish of accurate and thorough scholarship, 
the rich spoils of classic antiquity, and the fruits of years 
of learned research, in the course of which the depths of 
Plato must have been sounded. But no other man can be 
named, who is not, upon considerations of another kind, 
completely excluded from the question of this authorship ; 
and hence a ground of argument of no little weight, that 
Bacon must have been the man. 

The Wisdom of the Ancients, and the Characters of 
Julius and Augustus Caesar, may show the direction of his 
studies, and they disclose the source of that familiar acquaint- 
ance with the Grecian mythology and the Roman history, 
and with the ancient manners and customs, which is so 
distinctly displayed in these poetical works, and particu- 
larly in the " Troilus and Cressida," the " Timon of Athens," 
the " Antony and Cleopatra," the " Coriolanus," and the 



BEN JONSON. 165 

"Julius Caesar." The Memory and Discourse of Queen 
Elizabeth find a parallel in Cranmer's Speech in com- 
pliment to King James and "the maiden phoenix," his 
predecessor; the History of Henry VII. in the tragedy 
of Richard III. and the other plays founded on English 
history and the Wars of the Roses ; the intended History 
of Henry VIII., in the tragedy of that name ; the New 
Atlantis, in prose, in these types and models in verse; 
and the Essays, the Advancement, the Natural History, and 
the Novum Organum, may render the civil and moral max- 
'ims, the natural science, and the metaphysical philosophy 
of the plays possible for their author, if he be taken to 
have been Francis Bacon. 

§ 2. BEN JONSON. 

Ben Jonson must have been in the secret of this arrange- 
ment. Steevens thought the Dedication and Preface of 
Heming and Condell's Folio must have been written by 
him. He certainly took a large part in bringing this 
marvellous volume to light, and in parading in the frontis- 
piece the stolid effigies of this mountebank, which probably 
needed no disguise from the burin of Droeshout to make 
it a veritable mask of Momus, in imperturbable mock- 
seriousness, shaking his lance at the eyes of ignorance, 
" martial in the warlike sound of his surname, Hasti- 
vibrans" l says garrulous old Fuller ; while, at the same 
time, he slyly inserts, on the opposite page, that significant 
advice, — 

"Reader, looke, 
Not on his picture, but his booke." 

The style, manner, and diction of this Dedication and 
Preface are much more nearly that of Bacon ; but it may 
very well have been Jonson. The story of the players, that 
Shakespeare never blotted out a line, has already been 
alluded to ; but when it is remembered that Ben Jonson 

l Worthies of England, III. 284. 



166 BEN JONSON. 

was an intimate friend and great admirer of Bacon, deem- 
ing him "by his works one of the greatest of men and 
most worthy of admiration that had been in many ages " ; 
that he wrote a poem in honor of " England's High Chan- 
cellor/' for the festivities at York House on the anniversary 
of his sixtieth birthday, in which he speaks of him as 

one 

" Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full, 
Out of their choicest and their whitest wool; " 

that he was certainly present, if he did not take an active 
part, in bringing out the " Henry VIII." at the Globe, in 
1613 ; that he was one of those u good pens " w T hose learned 
service Bacon employed in the translation of his English 
works into Latin ; that even " in his adversity," after his 
fall from power, he could not " condole in a word or syllable 
for him, as knowing no accident could do harm to virtue, 
but rather help to make it manifest " ; and that he was him- 
self a scholar, a critic, and a judge of men ; it can scarcely 
be doubted, either that this anecdote of the players would 
be in the possession of Bacon, and as likely to be used by 
him as by Jonson himself, or that Jonson w T ould have the 
sagacity and the means to discover the secret of this 
authorship, as well as the honor and good faith to keep it. 
He knew the cast of Bacon's mind and character. He had 
read his prose compositions, had translated some of them 
into Latin, and must have been familiar with his mode of 
thinking and his style of writing. And it is scarcely cred- 
ible that he should not have recognized in the plays of 
Shakespeare, the hand and genius of the master whom he 
so much admired. That he appreciated this poetry in as 
high a degree as the critics of later times, even down to 
our day, may be clearly seen in his poetical " Eulogy " on 
Shakespeare. It is carefully dedicated to the " Memory " 
of Shakespeare "and what he hath left us"; and the whole 
tenor of it is such as to fix the attention of the reader more 
on the writings than on the man. It w T as certainly his 



BEN JONSON. 167 

opinion, that the great poet had not been merely born, but 

made : — 

" For a good poet 's made as well as born, 
And such wert thou. Look, how the father's face 
Lives in his issue; even so the race 
Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines, 
In his well-turned and true-filed lines; 
In each of which he seems to shake a lance, 
As brandish' d at the eyes of ignorance." 

And the concluding lines of this " Eulogy," in which the 
volume itself still makes the principal figure, may be ap- 
plied with force and equal appropriateness to the other : — 

" Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, 
Or influence, chide or cheer the drooping stage, 
Which since thy flight from hence hath mourned like night, 
And despairs day, but for thy Volumes' light." 

There are some vague traditions that Ben Jonson severely 
criticized the productions of Shakespeare, and was envious 
of his superiority and his fame. They seem to be founded 
on the writings of Jonson himself; and from these, it should 
rather be inferred that Jonson could not really have be- 
lieved that William Shakespeare was the actual author of 
the works which were produced in his name. His account 
of the anecdote of the players runs thus : — "I remember 
the players have often mentioned it as an honor to Shakes- 
peare, that in writing (whatever he penned) he never blotted 
out line," Now, no man knew better than Jonson, not even 
Pope, the utter impossibility of such works as these dramas 
being dashed off, in a rapid first draught, at once finished 
and complete, without a line blotted, That the players 
thought so, must have been a fine joke for him and Bacon ; 
that the players said so, may be taken as evidence that 
they thought it a pretty good jest themselves. Bacon tran- 
scribed the " Novum Organum " some twelve times, before 
it was finished to his satisfaction. Burke copied his 
"French Revolution" six times, before he would suffer it 
vO receive the final stamp of the press, Smaller poems 



168 BEN JONSON. 

may have been sometimes composed and written down at 
once complete. Goethe tells us, that, sometimes, when 
he had conceived a sonnet, or a song, he immediately ran 
to paper, and jotted it down, before it should vanish from 
his memory. Alfieri wrote his tragedies first in brief prose, 
then in extended form, and lastly, put them into verse ; and 
Virgil, about to die, after many years of toil, is said to have 
commended the ".iEneid" to the flames as not yet finished 
to his liking. Where is the record in all literary history of 
extended compositions like these dramas having been spun 
out in this Arachne-like fashion ? The very proposition is 
well-nigh absurd. Common actors might possibly believe, or 
imagine, that their facetious manager, amidst the daily bustle 
of the theatre, and in the few hours of leisure which he 
could snatch from business, or from sleep, out of his mirac- 
ulous invention, and with the inspired pen of born genius, 
could dash off a Hamlet, or a Lear, perfect to a syllable, as 
easily as twinkle his eye. But the learned and judicious 
critic, or any capable judge of the matter, will rather turn 
his search to the retired chambers of Gray's Inn, or to the 
embowered lodge of Twickenham Park, or to the blooming 
gardens of Gorhambury, where sat brooding in silence and 
in private the great soul that had taken all knowledge for 
his province, hopefully murmuring, " Sir, I lack advance- 
ment," and " I eat the air, promise-crammed," yet diligently 
pursuing his "vast contemplative ends," with plenty of 
leisure and little business, leading a life " so private " that he 
had " had no means " to do the Lord Burghley " service," l 
thin and pale with " inward secret grief," and continually 
sickly " by untimely going to bed, and then musing nescio 
quid when he should sleep " ; and that onward, nearly so, for 
the space of thirty long years, publicly looking for promotion 
in the state, while privately elaborating, and doubtless with 
the most scrupulous care, the great works in prose and verse, 
which were to carry his name and memory to foreign 
1 Letter to Burghley. 



BEN JONSON. 169 

nations and the next ages. No doubt, the original man- 
uscripts which came to the hands of William Shakespeare, 
or the copies that came into the hands of the players, would 
be clean and complete, with never a line blotted, — a won- 
derful miracle, indeed, to the players ! And so, the sonnet 
sings : — 

" How like a Winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year? 
AVhat freezings have I felt, what dark days seen? 
What old December's bareness everywhere? 
And yet this time removed was summer's time, 
The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime, 
Like widow' d wombs after their lord's decease: 
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of Orphans, and unfather'd fruit, 

■ For Summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And thou away, the very birds are mute, 
Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer, 
That leaves look pale, dreading the Winter 's near." 

Sonnet xcvii. * 

The remainder of Ben Jonson's account of Shakespeare 
is much in keeping with this hypothesis. He says further : 
" My answer hath been, Would he had blotted out a thousand! 
which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told 
posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chose that circum- 
stance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted, 
and to justify mine own candour, for I love the man, and 
do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as 
any. He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free 
nature, had an excellent fancy, brave notions, and gentle 
expressions ; wherein he flowed with that facility that some- 
times it was necessary he should be stopped : Sufflaminandus 
erat, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own^ 
power ; would the rule of it had been so, too. Many times 
he fell into those things which could not escape laughter, 
as when he said in the person of Caesar, one speaking to 
1 Sonnets (Fac-simile of the ed. of 1609), London, 1862. 



170 BEN JONSON. 

him, ' Caesar, thou dost me wrong,' he replied, ' Caesar did 
never wrong, but with just cause ; ' and such like, which 
were ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices with his vir- 
tues ; there was ever more in him to be praised than to be 
pardoned." * 

This line, it seems, is not correctly quoted from any known 
edition of the play ; the statement may refer to Shake- 
speare's mode of speaking the passage as an actor on the 
stage ; and the whole account carries with it an air of irony, 
and the appearance of a constrained vindication of himself 
from a malevolent and ridiculous complaint of ignorant 
persons. His observations relate, in part, to the person 
of Shakespeare, and, in part, to his supposed productions, 
perhaps ; though in this, he is equivocal and indefinite. If 
he knew the secret, he certainly meant to keep it. His 
intimation, that the rule of his wit was not sufficiently in 
his power, and that he sometimes made himself ridiculous, 
probably had some foundation in fact. He could not well 
refrain from rebuking the folly of the players, nor from 
vindicating himself from the charge of malevolence towards 
Shakespeare. With regard to the personal qualities of the 
man, his opinion may be taken as coming near the truth. 
These are the qualities of an agreeable companion, a face- 
tious fellow, and a prosperous manager ; but they do not 
account for these plays, nor for that excellent appreciation 
of their quality, which we find in Ben Jonson's " Eulogy." 

The traditions handed down by Fuller are of like import. 
" Jonson," says he, " was built far higher in learning, solid 
but slow; but Shakespeare lesser in bulk, but lighter for 
sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take ad- 
vantage of all winds, by the quickness of his art and inven- 
tion." All this is a mere afterthought, and a tale of myth- 
ical growth, like his other old saw of Poeta nascitur, and 
his Cornish diamonds, that were not polished by any lapi- 
dary; and they may illustrate how "Nature itself was all 
1 Ben Jojisou's Discoveries* 



BEN JONSON. 171 

the art which was used " upon William Shakespeare ; but 
they do not explain the origin of these very extraordinary 
compositions. 

Another traditionary document may be mentioned, which 
was published in 1643-5, and was believed by Sir Egerton 
Bridges to have been the work of George Withers, the 
poet. Withers was born in 1588, and died in 1667, and he 
may be considered as a contemporary. This document will 
show, that Lord Bacon, in the opinion of Withers, at least, 
was entitled to high rank among his contemporaries in the 
kingdom of Apollo. It is entitled " The Great Assizes 
holden in Parnassus by Apollo and his Assessours, at which 
are arraigned Mercurius Brittanicus, Mercurius Aulicus," 
&c, (periodical publications of that time). It proceeds 
thus : 

" The Members of the Parnassian Court are as follows : — 

Apollo. 

The Lord Verttlam, Chancellor of Parnassus. 

Sir Philip Sidney, High Constable of Parnassus. 

William Bud.eus, High Treasurer. 

John Picus, Earl of Mirandula, High Chamberlaine. 

Julius Cesar Scaliger. Isaac Casaubon. 

Erasmus Roterodam. John Seldex. 

Justus Lirsius. Hugo Grotius. 

John Barcklay. Daniel Heinsius. 

John Bodine. Conradus Yorstius. 

Adiuan Turnebus. Augustine Mascardus. 

The Jurors. 

George Withers. Michael Drayton. 

Thomas Cary. Francis Beaumont. 

Thomas May. John Fletcher. 

William Davenant. Thomas Haywood. 

Joshua Sylvester. William Shakespeare. 

George Sanders. Philip Massinger. 

The Malefactors [as in the title.'] 
Joseph Scaliger, the Censour of Manners in Parnassus 
Ben Jonson, Keeper of the Trophonian Denne. 
John Taylour, Cryer of the Court. 
Edmund Spenser, Clerk of the Assizes." 



172 MATTHEW'S POSTSCRIPT. 

Then follows a poetical account of the empanelling of 
the jury, the arraignment of the malefactors, and the pro- 
ceedings generally, " soure Ben," all the while, having the, 
culprits in custody in " the Trophonian Denne." * 

§ 3. Matthew's postscript. 

Another very remarkable piece of evidence is Mr. Tobie 
Matthew's postscript. It is appended to a letter to Bacon, 
which is itself without date, but is addressed to the Vis- 
count St Alban, and must therefore necessarily have been 
subsequent to the 27th day of January, 1G21, when his 
Lordship was invested with that title. The letter is found 
in the collection of Birch, and is placed by him among 
those " wanting both dates and circumstances to determine 
the date." 2 It appears to be in answer to a letter from 
Lord Bacon dated u the 9th of April" (year not given), ac- 
companying some " great and noble token " of his " Lord- 
ship's favour," which was, in all probability, a newly printed 
book ; for Bacon, as we know from the Letters, was in 
the habit of sending to Mr. Matthew a copy of his books as 
they were published ; and much of their correspondence 
had relation more or less to the books and writings on 
which Bacon was at the time engaged. We know that the 
works published by Lord Bacon, after 1620, were the His- 
tory of Henry VII., in March, 1622; the De Augmentis, 
in October, 1623, the Apothegms, in December, 1624, and 
the Essays and Psalms, in 1625; and there is reason to 
believe that the Folio of 1623, which was entered at Sta- 
tioners' Hall in November of that year, was issued from the 
press in the spring of that year, — there being a copy now 
in existence bearing the date of 1622 on the title-page, 
showing that a part of the edition was actually struck off 
before the end of 1622. In like manner, the first edition 
of the Apothegms bears date 1625, though in fact pub- 

1 Bridges' Brit. Bibliographer, I. 513. 

2 Works (Mont.) XII. 468; (Philad.) III. 160. 



MATTHEW'S POSTSCRIPT. 173 

lished in December, 1624. 1 We know, also, from the Let- 
ters, that Mr. Matthew resided in London in the years 
1621-2, and down to the 18th day of April, 1623, the date 
of a letter of Bacon, which he was to carry with him into 
Spain to the Duke of Buckingham, in whose service he 
was to be there employed; and he returned to England 
with the Duke and the Prince in October, 1623, and re- 
ceived from the King at Royston the honor qf knighthood 
on the 10th day of that month. 2 He remained a few years 
in London, and then went to Ireland. In a letter to the 
Duke, dated at Gorhamjbury, March 20th, 1621-2, Bacon 
says : " I am bold to present your Lordship with a book of 
my History of King Henry VII., and now that, in summer 
that was twelve months, I dedicated a book to his Majesty, 
and this last summer, this book to the Prince, your Lord- 
ship's turn is next ; and this summer that cometh, if I 
live to it, shall be yours." The Novum Organ um had been 
dedicated to the King in 1620, and if we count the sum- 
mers, we shall see that the summer of 1621 was devoted to 
the History of Henry VII., and that of 1622 to the De 
Augmentis, which was to be dedicated to Buckingham, 
but was not published until October, 1623, just after the 
Duke's return from Spain. On the 20th of March, 1622, 
copies of the History of Henry VII. were presented to 
the King and Buckingham, and on the 20th of April fol- 
lowing, one to the Queen of Bohemia, as we see by the 
Letters. 3 And it is not improbable, that on the 9th of 
April of the same year, a copy may have been sent to Mr. 
Matthew also, and that this may have been the " noble 
token " referred to. Neither is there anything at all in the 
way of the supposition that this date may actually have 
been the 9th of April, 1623 ; and there was no publication 
of any work of Bacon, during that spring, which he would 

i Spedding's Pre/. Works (Boston), XIII. 314. 

2 Nichols 1 Prog. James /., III. 930 n. 

3 Works (Mont.) XII. 430; XIII. 36, 39. 



174 MATTHEW'S POSTSCRIPT. 

be sending to Mr. Matthew, unless it were precisely this 
Folio of 1623 : nor does anything appear on record to indi- 
cate a later date than this for this very notable postscript. 
And considering that it was this same Mr. Tobie Matthew, 
who personated the " Squire " in the masque at Essex's 
house; that he was "one of the most eccentric characters 
of that age," an intimate literary friend of Bacon, and a 
correspondent of long standing, to whom he was in the 
habit of sending his books as they came out, making him, 
too, sometimes, his critical " inquisitor " * beforehand ; that, 
at this very time, the closest relations of friendship and 
correspondence subsisted between them, " being," says Ba- 
con, not long after, in a letter to Cottington, " as true a 
friend as any you or I have ; " 2 and that he was himself a 
scholar, and a son of the Archbishop of York, with whom 
also Bacon corresponded, and was particularly familiar 
with Bacon's writings, mind, and character ; we shall be 
prepared not to be so greatly surprised at the intimation 
given in this postscript, that he knew a secret, respecting 
which he could not forbear to compliment his Lordship 
on this occasion ; and the more especially, if we may sup- 
pose that it was the new Folio that he had before him. 
The letter runs thus : — 

" To the Lord Viscount St. Allan: — 

"Most honored Lord, — I have received your great and 
noble token and favour of the 9th of April, and can but return 
the humblest of my thanks for your Lordship's vouchsafing so to 
visit this poorest and unworthiest of your servants. It doth me 
good at heart, that, although I be not where I was in place, yet T 
am in the fortune of your Lordship's favour, if I may call that for- 
tune, which I observe to be so unchangeable. I pray hard that it 
may once come in my power to serve you for it ; and who can 
tell but that, 2L§fortis imaginatio generat casum, so strong desires 
may do as much ? Sure I am that mine are ever waiting on your 

1 Letter to Matthew. 

2 Letter 1623, Works (Mont.), XII. 445. 



MATTHEW'S POSTSCRIPT. 175 

Lordship ; and wishing as much happiness as is due to your incom- 
parable virtue, I humbly do your Lordship reverence. 
" Your Lordship's most obliged and humble servant, 

" Tobie Matthew. 

u P. S. The most prodigious wit that ever I knew of my na- 
tion, and of this side of the sea, is of your Lordship's name, though i 
he be known by another." (*) 

Now, who else but this same Shakespeare could have 
been considered by Mr. Matthew to be a cover for the most 
prodigious wit of all England, at that day? or what else 
could have more naturally prompted this unique postscript 
than the new History of Henry VII., all sparkling with 
Shakespearean diamonds, or indeed this Folio, all blazing 
with the Baconian wit, power, and beauty ? It could not 
have been Bacon as philosopher, statesman, or eminent 
prose-writer ; for all his known works were published under 
his own name. Neither could the word wit have been used 
here in the more general sense of that day as meaning 
genius and ability in general ; for in this sense, it could 
only have been applied to these same acknowledged works. 
It must therefore have been intended in the special sense 
of the word as now used. That Bacon was a great wit in 
every sense of the word, needs no demonstration here. "We 
have direct and satisfactory evidence of it in his own 
writings everywhere ; and it has been proverbial with all 
who have written concerning him, from Ben Jonson to 
Macaulay. Queen Elizabeth said he " had a great wit and 
much learning " ; Ben Jonson, that he could not " spare 01 Y 
pass by a jest " ; Sir Robert Naunton, a contemporary, 
says of Sir Nicholas Bacon, that he was " an arch-peece of 
wit, and of wisdome," and "abundantly facetious; which 
tooke much with the queene " ; and he adds that " he was 
father to that refined wit, which since hath acted a dis- 
astrous part on the publique stage, and of late sate in his 

1 WorJcs (Mont.), XII. 468; (III., Philad. 160). 



i 



176 MATTHEW'S POSTSCRIPT. 

father's roome as lord chancellor " ; * and this testimony of 
Mr. Matthew that he was a " most prodigious wit " may be 
taken as settling the question. Clearly, somebody was 
shining in borrowed feathers, which not only belonged to 
Bacon, but made him the most prodigious wit of that side 
of the sea ; and of this, Mr. Matthew was unquestionably 
a competent judge. It could have been no other than that 
"upstart crow beautified with our feathers," that the incred- 
ulous Greene knew for "a Johannes factotum" and "the 
only Shake-scene in a country." 

Mr. Matthew was much in the habit of adding post- 
scripts to his letters to Bacon. In one, he asks his lordship 
to send him a some of his philosophical labours " ; and in 
a letter to Mr. Matthew, Bacon writes : " I have sent you 
some copies of my book of the ' Advancement/ which you 
desired, and a little work of my recreation, which you 
desired not." 2 What this "little work" was, there is no 
intimation ; and it might be altogether too great a stretch 
of the imagination to suppose it may have been a quarto 
play. Nevertheless, it may not be unreasonable to believe 
that these little recreations of his other studies may have 
helped to furnish the key, by which the secret had been 
unlocked. In fact, it would be well-nigh incredible, that a 
scholar, who was so familiar with Bacon and his writings as 
Ben Jonson, or Sir Tobie Matthew, must have been, should 
not have discovered the hand and soul of Francis Bacon in 
these plays of Shakespeare as certainly as a Bernouilli the 
genius of Newton in the anonymous solution of a mathe- 
matical problem, — ex ungue Leonem : — especially, when 
he ventured to write in this manner in the Sonnets : — 

" Why is ray verse so barren of new pride? 
So far from variation or quick change ? 
Why with the time do I not glance aside 
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? 
Why write I still all one, ever the same, 

1 Fragmenta Regalia, 75, (London, 1824). 

2 Letter, Works (Philad.), III. 71; (Mont.), XVI., Note AAA. (1605). 



CONTEMPORARY WRITERS. 177 

And keep invention in a noted weed, 
That every word doth almost tell my name, 
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed ? " 

Sonnet Ixxvi. 

Which wonder shall find an echo in his Prayers, thus : — 
" The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been 
precious in mine eyes : I have hated all cruelty and hard- 
ness of heart : I have, though in a despised weed, procured 
the good of all men." * 

§ 4. CONTEMPORARY WRITERS. 

A critical comparison of these poetical works with the 
writings of contemporary authors will result always in a 
complete exclusion of them all from any competition for 
this authorship. Question has been made by some critics 
as to some few of the earlier and less conspicuous plays, 
but of the greater ones, and especially of those which have 
a more philosophical character, as also of the sonnets and 
poems, no well-grounded doubt has ever been entertained, 
that they were all the work of one and the same writer. 
In these, as indeed in all the rest, the style and manner of 
the genuine Shakespeare are so distinctly marked and so 
peculiar as at once to distinguish them from the productions 
of any other writer of that or any other age. The style 
and genius of Shakespeare have ever been considered, if 
not unapproachable, at least perfectly sui generis. In this 
comparison, in respect of philosophic depth of insight, 
knowledge of art, and the fundamental principles of dra- 
matic composition, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Mas- 
singer, Ford, Marlowe, Drayton, and the rest, sink to the 
level of ordinary writers : their range in the world of 
thought and knowledge lay far below him. Bacon's prose, 
compared with that of other writers of his own or any 
other age, is no less distinguishable, nor less decidedly 
characteristic of the individual man. 

i Prayer, WorJcs, (Philad.), IT. 405 
12 



178 CONTEMPORARY WRITERS. 

Sir Walter Raleigh seems to have been considered, by 
at least one writer, 1 to have been equal to a share in this 
work. He was indeed a polished courtier, a learned man 
for that day, and a patron of learning and art, himself a 
distinguished author in prose and verse, a scientific inves- 
tigator and a somewhat philosophical thinker. He was 
thirty-seven years of age when the " Titus Andronicus " 
appeared, in 1589. His youth was spent abroad in the 
wars ; and, after his introduction at Court, in 1582, his 
time and attention must have been more or less exclusively 
occupied with his courtly company, his parliamentary duties, 
his military expeditions, his voyages of discovery, and his 
various business transactions, down to the death of the 
Queen and the beginning of his troubles in 1603 ; and the 
" History of the World " and other writings on which he is 
known to have been employed, while a prisoner in the 
Tower, will scarcely leave room for the prosecution of a 
work of this kind. Any theory that these works were the 
product of a society, or club, or partnership, of two or more 
individuals, will have to be given up as wholly untenable : 
it is utterly inadmissible. The earlier part of Raleigh's 
life was outwardly active, full of personal display, great 
exploit, and stirring events. He took trunks of books on 
his voyages, and experimented in chemistry at home ; but, 
on the whole, his time for study must have been small, and 
his range of thought and knowledge limited, in comparison 
with Bacon. It is plain from his writings, that his studies 
in the ancient learning and philosophy, and his acquire- 
ments generally, were rather superficial than profound in 
this comparison. His " Treatise on the Soul " may be 
taken as a fair test of his philosophic depth ; and, compared 
with Bacon and Shakespeare, it shrinks into the dimensions 
of a very small affair. And what is still more conclusive 
of him, as of the rest of his contemporaries, his writings, in 
prose and verse, exhibit another style and man altogether. 
1 Phil, of Shahs. Plays Unfolded, by Delia Bacon, 1857. 



REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 179 
§ 5. REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 

With Bacon himself, a desire to rise in the profession 
of the law, or his ambition for high place in the State, the 
plan of life he had chosen to follow, the low reputation of 
a play-writer, in that age, and the mean condition and 
estate of all poor poets, the need of a larger liberty and a 
more daring freedom of thought and expression than he 
could have ventured to take, without some danger to his 
fortunes, or even to his personal liberty, at times, if it had 
been known that he was the author of these plays, and 
more especially, perhaps, a desire that his reputation, both 
with his contemporaries and with after times, should finally 
rest upon his acknowledged writings and his philosophical 
works in particular, as of greater dignity and better becom- 
ing his station and the civil honors he sought to attain, in 
accordance with the ideas of that age, — these, not to dwell 
upon other reasons of a philosophical and critical nature, 
and of a higher and more disinterested character, — are of 
themselves, perhaps, a sufficient explanation of his wish to 
cover this authorship, and to remain a concealed poet, in 
his own time ; and especially in the earlier part of his 
career, when the private arrangement, if it existed, must 
have been made. In his dedication of the " Colours of 
Good and Evil " to Lord Mountjoy, in 1595-7, he expressly 
tells us, that it was his " manner and rule to keep state in 
contemplative matters." Lord Coke was not alone among 
those in high places, at that day, whose opinion was, that 
play -writers and stage - players were fit subjects for the 
grand jury as " vagrants," and that " the fatal end of these 
five is beggary, — the alchemyst, the monopotext, the con- 
cealer, the informer, and the poetaster " ; * and as it was, 
Coke and the like of him took " the liberty to disgrace and 
disable his law," and constantly sneered at his " book-learn- 
ing." Even the Queen herself seized upon it as an excuse 

1 Campbell's Lives of the Chief Justices, I. 279. 



180 REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 

for refusing him promotion, that " Bacon," as she said, 
" had a great wit, and much learning, but that in law he 
could show to the uttermost of his knowledge, and was not 
deep ; " as if inferring the one thing from the other, or as if 
a man could not know law, and, at the same time, know 
anything else. In general, it may be admitted that he was 
in some degree unsuited for a life of executive activity in 
the administration of affairs. At a later day, he confessed 
as among the errors of his life " this great one which led 
the rest, that knowing myself by inward calling to be fitter 
to hold a book than play a part I have led my life in civil 
causes, for which I was not very fit by nature, and more 
unfit by preoccupation of mind." * In the state of things 
that existed in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. (to be 
illustrated in the particular history of the play of Richard 
II.) , it will not be difficult to see, that an open avowal of 
this authorship might have been fatal to all his prospects 
of elevation in the State, on which he considered the suc- 
cess of his efforts for the advancement of science and the 
benefit of mankind in a great measure to depend. " But 
power to do good," he says, " is the true and lawful end of 
aspiring ; for good thoughts (though God accept them), 
yet towards men are little better than good dreams, except 
they be put in act ; and that cannot be, without power and 
place as the vantage and commanding ground." 2 The 
Novum Organum by the Lord Verulam, Lord High Chan- 
cellor of England, magnificently dedicated to the King, 
(having passed " the file of his Majesty's judgment," and 
been found to be " like the wisdom of God that passeth all 
understanding,") would attract the attention of Europe ; 
but these plays, the " wanton burthen of the prime," which 
could never pass the royal file, must be thrown upon the 
stage as 

" But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit." 

1 Letter to Bodley. 

2 Essay of Great Place. 



REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 181 

They had to take their place, and stand trial upon their 
own merits, in the open theatre ; and this he knew they 
would do, safely enough, and work out their own salvation, 
at least for the present. 

Towards the close of his life, the scene would be changed, 
and the matter is to be considered as it would then stand 
in his view. He is now working in good earnest for the 
next ages. He will first revise, finish, and republish his 
former works, and then devote the remainder of life to his 
greater philosophical labors. He renounces all worldly 
honors, and mere fame with his contemporaries loses nearly 
all attraction for him. He seeks a full pardon of his sen- 
tence, and a restoration to his seat in the House of Lords, 
that "a cloud" may be lifted from his name; but when, 
finally, the summons comes, his answer is : " I have done 
with such vanities." We have a very distinct intimation in 
his own w T ords as to what his opinion then was, in respect 
to fame of this kind ; for in his dedicatory epistle to Bishop 
Andrews, his " ancient and private acquaintance," whom 
he held " in special reverence," prefixed to that Shake- 
spearean " Dialogue touching an Holy "War," written in 
1622, he gives an explicit account of his writings and pur- 
poses. He compares his fortunes to those of Demosthenes, 
Cicero, and Seneca, and chooses for himself the example 
of Seneca, like himself, a learned poet, moralist, statesman 
and philosopher, who, being banished into a solitary island, 
"spent his time in writing books of excellent argument and 
use for all ages," having determined, as he says, " (where- 
unto I was otherwise inclined) to spend my time wholly in 
writing ; and to put forth that poor talent, or half talent, or 
what it is, that God hath given me, not as heretofore to 
particular exchanges, but to banks and mounts of per- 
petuity, which will not break. Therefore, having not long 
since set forth a part of my Instauration, which is the work, 
that in mine own judgment (si nunquam fallit imago) I do 
most esteem, I think to proceed in some new parts thereof. 



182 REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 

1 have a purpose therefore (though I break the 

order of time) to draw it down to the sense, by some pat- 
terns of a Natural Story or Inquisition." But besides these 
natural stories, which were probably to be something like 
the "New Atlantis," and some other works particularly 
named, there was still another class, for w r hich the world 
might " scramble " and " set up a new English inquisition" 
and upon which he continues in these words : — 

" As for my Essays and some other particulars of that 
'nature, I count them but as the recreations of my other 
studies, and in that sort purpose to continue them ; though 
I am not ignorant that those kind of writings would with 
less pains and embracement (perhaps) yield more lustre 
and reputation to my name than those other which I have 
in hand. But I account the use that a man should seek 
of the publishing of his own writings before his death, to 
be but an untimely anticipation of that which is proper to 
follow a man, and not to go along with him." * 

Again, speaking of his philosophy in general, he says : — 
" For myself, nothing which is external to the establish- 
ment of its principles is of any interest to me. For neither 
am I a hungerer after fame, nor have I, after the manner of 
heresiarchs, any ambition to originate a sect ; and, as for 
deriving any private emolument from such labours, I should 
hold the thought as base as it is ridiculous. Enough for 
me the consciousness of desert, and that coming accom- 
plishment of real effects which fortune itself shall not be 
able to intercept." 2 

He cares little now for any mere lustre of reputation. 
It is very possible, of course, that all these expressions had 
reference only to some other prose compositions of a pop- 
ular character. They do not necessarily amount to any 
positive allusion to these plays ; but when considered with 
reference to the entire mass of evidence, which will be pro- 

1 WorTcs (Boston), XIII. 188. 

2 Proamium, Craik's Bacon, 614. 



REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 183 

duced to prove the fact that he was the author of them, it 
must strike the mind of any reader with the force of a very 
pregnant suggestion, that he intended (in his own mind, at 
least,) to include them in the same category with the 
Essays as among those other unnamed particulars. The 
work of revising the Essays was continued, and the new 
and enlarged edition appeared, in 1625. If the Folio of 
1623 were printed under his supervision, his part of the 
work must have been still in progress, if not entirely com- 
pleted, at the date of this epistle to Bishop Andrews. 

His poetical works were in the possession of the world 
as " Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and 
Tragedies," and as " Shakespeare's Sonnets and Poems ; " 
and so he would let them remain. They had had their trial 
already and stood out all appeals, and the wit that was in 
them could no more be hid than it could be lost. These 
" feigned histories or speaking pictures," which had for one 
object, perhaps, "to draw down to the sense" of the theatre 
and the popular mind things which " flew too high over 
men's heads " in general, in other forms of delivery, would 
effectually do their own proper work ; and they might be 
left to- take care of themselves. " And there we hope," 
says the Preface, " to your divers capacities, you will find 
enough, both to draw, and hold you." For him, not to be 
understood would be all the same as not to be known : 
" Head him, therefore, and again and again : And, if then, 
you do not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger 
not to understand him." It is certainly conceivable, that a 
mind like his should care but little for any lustre that might 
be added to his name, or his memory, by these writings ; or, 
at least, that he should be willing to wait until it should 
shine forth with an illumination sufficiently brilliant and 
clear to reveal by its own light the soul and genius of him- 
self. In the mean time, he would take care to keep " the 
memory of so worthy a Friend and Fellow alive," as this 
'' our Shakespeare " had come to be. The following son- 



184 BACON A POET. 

net, perhaps, may represent the true state of his mind and 
feeling, near the close of his life : — 

"Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 

Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array, 

Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 

Painting thy outward walls so costly gay V 

Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 

Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 

Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? 

Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 

And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 

Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross: 

Within be fed, without be rich no more, 

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, 
And death once dead, there 's no more dying then." 

Sonnet cxlvi. 

§ 6. BACON A POET. 

Of course, if this theory be established, there will be 
no further question that Francis Bacon was a poet ; but 
the business here will be to consider of the extraneous 
evidences of the fact, and also of those further proofs out 
of the writings themselves, more immediately connected 
with this part of the inquiry, which go to establish that 
fact. We have already seen in his personal history that he 
was, in the earlier part of his career, much in the habit of 
writing sonnets. Some of them were addressed to the 
Queen, some were written for Essex to be addressed to her 
in his name, and one, at least, was commended by great 
persons ; for, as he writes in the Apology concerning 
Essex, u a little before that time, being about the middle 
of Michaelmas term [1599], her majesty had a purpose to 
dine at my lodge at Twickenham Park, at which time I 
had, though I profess not to be a poet, prepared a sonnet, 
directly tending and alluding to draw on her majesty's 
reconcilement to my lord ; which, I remember, also, I 
showed to a great person and one of my lord's nearest 



BACON A POET. 185 

friends [Southampton ?], who commended it." 1 In the 
letter of advice addressed by the Earl of Essex to Sir 
Fulke Greville on his studies, first printed by Mr. Sped- 
ding as written by Bacon, and palpably one of the numer- 
ous papers drafted by him for his patron's use, the Earl is 
made to say : " For poets, I can commend none, being 
resolved to be ever a stranger to them." 2 However this 
may have been intended to be seriously spoken in character 
by the Earl to the Knight (who was himself a poet), when 
considered with reference to the actual facts now known 
concerning them both, it may be taken as a pretty good 
joke. Nor need there be any wonder that his sonnets were 
commended by the great, when we know, by acknowledged 
specimens of his skill in the art, that he was capable of 
writing very excellent poetry. Upon a review of his poeti- 
cal works, Mr. Spedding ventures to express the opinion, 
that " Bacon was not without the fine phrensy of the poet," 
and that, if it had taken the ordinary direction, " it would 
have carried him to a place among the great poets." 3 

His metrical versions of the Psalms of David, which 
were dedicated to his friend, the learned and pious poet, 
George Herbert, as " the best judge of Divinity and Poesy 
met," were the amusement of his idle hours, during a time 
of impaired health, in the spring of 1625, and within a year 
of his death. Certainly, nothing great, or very brilliant, 
should be looked for in these mere translations into verse. 
In idea and sentiment, he was absolutely limited to the 
original psalm : nor could he have much latitude in the 
expression ; besides that large allowance must be made for 
the necessary difference between the young and "strong 
imagination " of 

"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet," 
of the " Midsummer-Night's Dream " of the man of thirty- 

1 Apology, Works (Phila.), II. 336. 

2 Letters and Life, by Spedding, II. 25. 

3 Works (Boston), XIV. 113. 



186 BACON A POET. 

three, and the more compounded age and the lassitude of the 
sick old man of sixty-five. Nevertheless, in elegance, ease of 
rhythmic flow, and pathetic sweetness, in many passages, they 
are not unworthy of the master himself, and in the expres- 
sion and use of words, there are many similitudes with 
Shakespeare, and some striking parallel passages may be 
found in them : as, for instance, this one from the transla- 
jon of the XCth Psalm, — 

" As a tale told, which sometimes men attend, 
And sometimes not, our life steals to an end : " 

which may be compared with the following lines from the 
" King John " : — 

" Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, 
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man." — Act III. Sc. 4. 

And again, in the same Psalm, we have these lines : — 

" Lord, thou art our home, to whom we fly, 
And so hast always been from age to age: 
Before the hills did intercept the eye, 

Or that the frame was up of earthly stage, 
One God thou wert, and art, and still shall be; 
The line of Time, it doth not measure thee. 
Both death and life obey thy holy lore, 

And visit in their turns, as they are sent; 

A thousand years with thee, they are no more 

Than yesterday, which, ere it is, is spent: 

Or as a watch by night, that cour.-e doth keep, 
And goes, and comes, unwares to them that sleep." * 

And in the CIVth Psalm, we have this line : — 

" The greater navies look like walking woods." 

Now, compare this with the following lines from the 
"Macbeth": — 

" Mess. I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
The wood began to move 

Mac. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
To the last s}ilable of recorded time; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. —Out, out, brief candle! 

i Works (Boston), XIV. 125. 



BACON A POET. 187 

Life 's but a walking shadow; a poor player, 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
And -then is heard no more: it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

It has scarcely ever been doubted, among critics, that 
the sonnets, smaller poems, and plays were the work of one 
and the same author ; though many have experienced 
insurmountable difficulties in the attempt to reconcile the 
sonnets with the life of the man, William Shakespeare. 
The similitudes of thought, style, and diction, are such as 
to put at rest all question on that head. Mr. Boswell 
doubted whether any true intimations could be drawn from 
the Sonnets of Shakespeare, respecting the life and feelings 
of the author : certainly no such doubt could have arisen 
in his mind, if he had considered them as the work of 
Francis Bacon. In respect of ideas, opinions, modes of 
thinking and feeling, style, manner, and language, they bear 
the impress of Bacon's mind, especially in the first half of 
his life ; and they exhibit states of mind and feeling, which 
will find an explanation nowhere better than in his personal 
history. Many of them show the strongest internal evidence 
of their having been addressed to the Queen, as they no 
doubt were. Bacon tells us, that " she was very willing to 
be courted, wooed, and to have sonnets made in her com- 
mendation " ; * and, as we know, he was himself notoriously 
given to the writing of sonnets to this u mistress' eyebrow." 
Some of them may have been addressed to his young friend, 
Mr. William Herbert (Earl of Pembroke), and others may 
find a fitting interpretation in the circumstances and events 
of his own actual life, in his own inward thought and feel- 
ing, and in his own enterprises of love, which continued to 
a late day, though this Petrarch worshipped no particular 
Laura. The first small collection of sonnets and minor 
poems was published by Jaggard, in 1599, under the title 
of the " Passionate Pilgrim," but the full edition of the 
l In Mem. Mz., Works (Mont.), III. 477. 



188 BACON A POET. 

Sonnets was dedicated to "Mr. W. H." in 1609, when 
Shakespeare was in his forty-sixth, and Bacon in the forty- 
ninth year of his age. Even the difficulty of Mr. Boswell, 
however, that a man of forty-five should write such sonnets 
a3 the LXXIIId, may disappear, when it is considered that 
Bacon was married in his forty-sixth year, and that even in 
1609, when so nearly fifty, thoughts of love and "yellow- 
leaves " may very well have come together. 

In 1594, the Solicitor's place having become vacant, 
Bacon's suit for it was urgently pressed by Essex and others 
of his friends. Without preferment at the age of thirty- 
three, and still hesitating whether he should not devote 
himself wholly to studies and a private life, he felt this to 
be an important crisis in his fortunes ; nearly all his hopes 
looking to a public career were staked upon it. The Queen 
had been personally well-disposed towards him, but she had 
conceived a high displeasure at his course in Parliament on 
the subsidies, and he w T as now excluded from her presence ; 
and the zeal of Essex in his behalf, insisting upon it as a 
special favor to himself, and as perhaps affording some 
countenance to his party, seems still further to have marred 
the w r hole business. She was determined not to yield her 
own will to the pride of Essex, and hesitated, perhaps, to 
raise to so high a place in the state the known adherent 
and friend of the great earl, who, although the grandson of 
her cousin, and a favorite thus far, was yet a descendant in 
the line of Edward III., whose ambitious head was capable 
of projects looking to her very throne. So, at last, w^hen 
he had been " voiced with great expectation," and had had 
" the honorable testimony of so many counsellors," and " the 
wishes of most men " even for the higher place of Attorney- 
General, the Queen " did fly the tilt," says Essex, and it 
w r as fixed, that Serjeant Fleming should be made Solicitor ; 
and. as we learn from himself, " no man ever read a more 
exquisite disgrace " than Francis Bacon. No longer " able 
to endure the sun," he " fled into the shade " at Twicken- 



BACON A POET. 189 

ham Park, the lovely country-seat of his brother Edward, 
on the banks of the Thames, where he kept his "lodge," 
his papers, and his books, and whither he was accustomed 
to retire whenever he could escape from Gray's Inn, and 
the bustle of the city, or desired to find the most favored 
retreat of the Muses. He had resolved thus, if rejected : 
* I will by God's assistance, with this disgrace of my fortune, 
and yet with the comfort of the good opinion of so many 
honorable and worthy persons, retire myself with a couple 
of men to Cambridge, and there spend my life in studies 
and contemplations, without looking back." 1 

Something like this same voicing appears in the " Hamlet," 
thus : — 

" Eos. Good my Lord, what is your cause of distemper ? You do, surely, 
bar the door of your liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Eos. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for 
your succession in Denmark ? 

Ham. Ay, sir, but ' while the grass grows,' — the proverb is something 
musty." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

Again, says the " Timon " : — 

" Is this the Athenian minion whom the world 
Voiced so regardfully?" — Ad IV. Sc. 3. 

The " Hamlet " continues : — 

" King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 

Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the cameleon's dish: I eat the air, promise- 
cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

So, says Bacon, of the chameleon : u He feedeth not only 
upon air, (though that be his principal sustenance,) yet some 
that have kept cameleons a whole year together, would 
never perceive that ever they fed upon anything else but 
air " ; 2 and this idea of the chameleon's feeding on air is 
found in the " Two Gentlemen of Verona," thus : — 

" Sic. What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change colour? 
Val. Give me leave, madam ; he is a kind of cameleon. 

i Letter, Work* (Mont.), XII. 170; Spedding, I. 291. 
2 Nat. Hist. § 360. 



190 BACON A POET. 

Thur. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your 
tix." — Act If. Sc.±. 

The " Hamlet " continues : — 
M Ham. My lord, you play'd once in the University, you say ? 

[To POLONIUS. 

Pol. That I did, my lord ; and was accounted a good actor. 
Ham. And what did you enact? 

Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar: I w T as kill'd i' the Capitol; Brutus kill 1 d 
me." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

And there is something like the sound of a reminiscence 
in this expression of Bacon : " Nay, even two or three days 
ago, Bernardinus Telesius mounted the stage, and enacted 
a new play." 1 

Further, when Hamlet had instructed the players how to 
speak the speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which 
he would set down and insert in the play, and the speech 
had taken effect, according to his expectation, the first re- 
mark that pops into his head is this very curious one : — 

" Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the rest of my fortunes 
turn Turk with me,) with two Provincial roses on my raz'd shoes, get me a 
fellowship in a cry of players, sir? " — Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2. 

Is it, then, so very wonderful, that these ideas of the 
University and a couple of men, and a fellowship with two 
Provincial roses in his shoes, and a forest of feathers, 
should be running in the same head, at times not far apart ? 
When Buckingham is about to fleece him of his " forest " 
at Gorhambury, he replies, " I will not be stripped of my 
feathers." 

In the mean time, the usual tenor of his thoughts had 
been seriously interrupted, and his whole heart saddened. 
Deep in debt and Jews' bonds, with his prospect for pro- 
motion thus fatally darkened, he was on the point of giving 
up in despair : even his studies failed to afford relief. It 
seemed to him, that " the old anthem might never be more 
truly sung : Totus mundus in rnaligno positus est n ; a and 

i Int. of Nat. Works (Mont.), XV. 100. 
2 Letter. 



BACON A POET. 191 

again he writes : " But casting the worst of my fortune with 
an honorable friend that had long used me privately, I told 
his Lordship of this my purpose to travel, accompanying 
it with these very words, that upon her Majesty's rejecting 
me with such circumstance, though my heart might be good, 
yet mine eyes would be sore that I should take no pleasure 
to look upon my friends ; for that I was not an impudent 
lTKorpthirrcould face out a disgrace ; and yet I hoped her 
Majesty would not be offended, if not being able to endure 
the sun, I fled into the shade." * And thus sings the son- 
net : — 

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in» hope, 
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least." — Sonnet xxix. 

After a short retirement at Essex's house, and within his 
own private lodge at Twickenham, where, as he says, he 
" once again enjoyed the blessings of contemplation in that 
sweet solitariness, which collecteth the mind, as shutting the 
eyes doth the sight," he began to see and acknowledge 
" the providence of God " towards him, and concluded that 
he had taken " duty too exactly " and not " according to the 
dregs of this age," finding it on the whole most wise and 
expedient to bear the yoke in his youth — " tolerare jugum 
in juventute " ; 2 so that at length being called to some 
service by the Queen, in which he was detained by sickness 
at Huntingdon, he writes to her Majesty thus : " This 
present arrest of mine by his Divine Majesty from your 
Majesty's service, is not the least affliction I have proved ; 
and I hope your Majesty doth conceive, that nothing under 
mere impossibility could have detained me from earning so 

1 Letter to Cecil (1594-5). Spedding's Let and Life, I. 350. 

2 Letter to the Queen; Spedding's Let. and Life, I. 3C4. 



192 BACON A POET. 

gracious a vail, as it pleased your Majesty to give me." x 
Again, from the same retreat on the Thames, he entreats 
her Majesty not to impute his " absence to any weakness 
of mind or unworthiness." 2 And much in the same spirit 
runs this sonnet : — 

"Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire? 
I have no precious time at all to spend, 
Nor services to do, till you require. 
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, 
Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, 
When you have bid your servant once adieu. 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught, 
Save where you are, how happy you make those. 
So true a fooMs love, that in your Will, 
(Though you do anything) he thinks no ill." — Sonnet lvii. 

And again, — 

" I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, 
Nor blame your pleasure, be it ill or well." — Sonnet lviii. 

His comfort was, however, that he knew (as he had writ- 
ten to Essex) that her Majesty took " delight and content- 
ment in executing this disgrace upon him " ; nor did he 
think that " after a quintessence of wormwood" her Majesty 
would take " so large a draft of poppy " as to pass " many 
summers without all feeling of his sufferings " ; 3 — 

"Ham. [Aside.'] Wormwood, wormwood 

And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? " — Act II. Sc. 2. 

as when the king in the play threatened to let loose upon 
Bertram his revenge and hate, — 

" Without all terms of pity." — AIVs Well, Act II. Sc. 3. 
And again the sonnet sings : — 

w What potions have I drunk: of siren tears, 
Distill' d from limbecks foul as hell within, 

1 Letter, July 20, 1594; WorJcs (Mont.), XIII. 81. 

2 Letter to the Queen; WorJcs (Mont.), XII. 170. 

3 Letter; Works (Mont.), XII. 167. 



BACON A POET. 193 

Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 

Still losing when I saw myself to win? " — Sonnet cxix. 

^.nd thus, again : — 

11 for my sake do you with fortune chide, 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
That did not better for my life provide, 
Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
And almost thence my nature is subdued 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
Pity me. then, and wish I were renew'd, 
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
Potions of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection. 
No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
Nor double penance to correct correction." — Sonnet cxi. 

11 Your love and pity doth the impression fill, 
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow." — Sonnet cxii. 

"I told her," writes Essex to Bacon, (26th March, 1594,) 
" how much you were thrown down with the correction she 
had already given you." 

About this time (1595), we find him writing again: 
" For to be as I told you, like a child following a bird, 
which, when he is nearest, flieth away and lighteth a little 
before, and then the child after it again, and so in infini- 
tum ; I am weary of it." * So moaned the " tired seasick 
suitor," as he describes himself in another letter ; 2 and very 
like, again, is the tone of the sonnet, — 

" Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry, — 
As to behold desert a beggar born, 
And needy nothing trim'd in jollity, 
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, * 

And gilded honour shamefully misplae'd, 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, 
And strength by limping sway disabled, 
And art made tongue-tied by authority, 

i Letter to Greville, WorJcs (Mont.), XII. 161 ; Letters and Life, Spedding, 
I. 359. 

2 Letter to Burghley (21 March, 1594-5), (Mont.), XII. 475; Spedding, 
I. 360. 



194 BACON A POET. 

And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 

And simple truth miscall' d simplicity, 

And captive Good attending captain 111. 

Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, 

Save that, to die, I leave my love alone." — Sonnet lxvi. 

And the same expression creeps into the " Richard II.," 
written soon afterwards, thus : — 

" Patience is stale, and I am weary of it." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

But lest an unfavorable impression should get abroad, 
and even become fixed in her Majesty's mind, on account 
of his unwonted absence from court, in these years, he 
writes again an express letter to the Lord Keeper, dated 
May 25th, 1595, from his retreat at Twickenham Park, 
desiring his Lordship to explain matters in that quarter, 
which runs thus : — 

" I thought good to step aside for nine days, which is the 
durance of a wonder, and not for any dislike in the world ; 
for I think her Majesty hath done me as great a favour in 
making an end of this matter, as if she had enlarged me 
from some restraint. And I humbly pray your Lordship, if 
it so please you, to deliver to her Majesty from me, that I 
would have been glad to have done her Majesty service now 
in the best of my years, and the same mind remains in me 
still ; and that it may be, when her Majesty hath tried 
others, she will think of him that she hath cast aside. For 
I will take it upon that which her Majesty hath often said, 
that she doth reserve me, and not reject me." * 

Which same wonder will appear again in the play, 

thus : — 

" Glos. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. 
Clar. That 's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
Glos. By so much is the wonder in extremes." 

3 Hen. VI, Act III. Sc. 2. 

And again, thus, in the " As You Like It " : — 

"Bos. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came." — 
Act. III. Sc. 2. 

i Letter, Works (Mont.), XIII. 53; Spedd. I. 360. 



BACON A POET. 195 

By November following, this great grief is forgotten, and 
we find him returned to his better moods, and assisting 
Essex in getting up a magnificent display, at his own house, 
for her Majesty's entertainment on the anniversary of her 
accession. Bacon puts in requisition all the powers of the 
Muses, and writes a Masque to be exhibited before her. 
Fleming had received his commission as Solicitor, on the 
5th of this month, and twelve days afterwards, the Queen 
had granted to Bacon, under the Privy Seal, in addition to 
the princely gifts he had previously received at her hands, 
the reversion of the lease of Twickenham Park itself, 
delightfully situated on the banks of the Thames, within 
sight of her Majesty's palace of Whitehall, with an agree- 
able mansion, park, and garden, and a goodly expanse of 
lawn and pasture, lake and orchard, mead and field, — " a 
home for a prince," says Mr. Dixon. 1 And hither her 
Majesty comes in person, upon occasion, to dine with her 
courtly admirer, and have a spice of his wit in his own 
Arcadian lodge. 

The speeches that were written for this Masque, as any 
one may see, are conceived in his own best manner and 
decidedly in the Shakespearean vein. This specimen from 
the Hermit's speech in the presence w T ill show his concep- 
tion of "the sweet travelling through universal variety," 
which will demand our particular attention : — 

" For I wish him to leave turning over the book of for- 
tune, which is but a play for children, when there be so 
many books of truth and knowledge better worthy the 
revolving, and not fix his view only upon a picture in a 
little table, where there be so many tables of histories, yea 
to the life, excellent to behold and admire. Whether he 
believe me or no, there is no prison to the thoughts, which 
are free under the greatest tyrants. Shall any man make 
his conceit as an anchor, mured up within the compass of 
one beauty or person, that may have the liberty of all 

1 Pers. Hist, 79, 108. 



196 BACON A POET. 

contemplation? Shall he exchange the sweet travelling 
through the universal variety for one wearisome and end- 
less round or labyrinth ? Let thy master. Squire, offer his 
service to the Muses. It is long since they received any 
into their court. They give alms continually at their gate, 
that many come to live upon ; but few they have ever 
admitted into their palace. There shall he find secrets not 
dangerous to know, sides and parties not factious to hold, 
precepts and commandments not penal to disobey. The 
gardens of love wherein he now playeth himself are fresh 
to-day and fading to-morrow, as the sun comforts them or is 
turned from them. But the gardens of the Muses keep 
the privilege of the golden age ; they ever flourish and are 
in league with time. The monuments of wit survive the 
monuments of power : the verses of the poet endure with- 
out a syllable lost, while states and empires pass many 
periods. Let him not think he shall descend, for he is now 
upon a hill as a ship is mounted upon the ridge of a wave ; 
but that hill of the Muses is above tempests, always clear 
and calm ; a hill of the goodliest discovery that man can 
have, being a prospect upon all the errors and wanderings 
of the present and former times. Yea, in some cliff it 
leadeth the eye beyond the horizon of time, and giveth no 
obscure divination of times to come. So that if he will 
indeed lead vitam vitalem, a life that unites safety and dig- 
nity, pleasure and merit ; if he will win admiration without 
envy ; if he will be in the feast and not in the throng ; in 
the light and not in the heat ; let him embrace the life of 
study and contemplation. And if he will accept of no 
other reason, yet because the gift of the Muses will en- 
worthy him in his love, and where he now looks on his mis- 
tress' outside with the eyes of sense, which are dazzled and 
amazed, he shall then behold her high perfections and heav- 
enly mind with the eyes of judgment, which grow stronger 
by more nearly and more directly viewing such an object." a 
i Masque, Works (Philad.), II. 533; Letters and Life, by Spedding, 1. 379. 



BACON A POET. 197 

Watching closely, we shall discover traces of this same 
cliff and hill of the Muses, in several places, in both these 
writings. Indeed there are many considerations which 
favor the supposition, that Bacon was privately devoted to 
the Muses. The cast of his genius was poetical. His prose 
writings almost everywhere exhibit the highest qualities 
of the poet, — a philosophic depth of insight, a luminous 
and powerful imagination, a bold and brilliant grasp of 
metaphor, a crystalline clearness, brevity, and beauty 
of expression, and such sovereignty in all the realms of 
thought and knowledge, and such command of language, 
as made all nature and the entire compass of the English 
tongue (which he enlarged from the Latin) tributary to his 
purposes ; and this is precisely what has always been recog- 
nized as one of the wonders of Shakespeare. From the 
very beginning of his career, he had taken all knowledge 
to be his province, and he had explored nearly every depart- 
ment of it that was open to him in his day. He had, more- 
over, attained to very correct ideas of the nature, objects, 
and uses of poetry : perhaps no man ever had better. 

In his Description of the Intellectual Globe, he says, 
" We adopt that division of human learning, which is cor- 
relative to the three faculties of the intellect. We there- 
fore set down its parts as three : History, Poesy, and 
Philosophy : — history has reference to memory ; poesy to 
imagination ; philosophy to reason. By poesy, in this place, 
we mean nothing else than feigned history." l In the Ad- 
vancement, he makes three divisions of Poesy : Narrative, 
Eepresentative, and Allusive. The Narrative is k> a mere 
imitation of history, with the excesses before remembered ; 
choosing for subject commonly wars and love, rarely state, 
and sometimes pleasure or mirth." The Allusive, or para- 
bolical, applied to some special purpose or conceit, " was 
much more in use in ancient times, as by the fables of 
zEsop, and the brief sentences of the Seven, and the 

1 Works (Mont.), XII. 150. 



198 BACON A POET. 

use of hieroglyphics may appear." But the Representative 
'' is as a visible history ; and is an image of actions as if 
they were present, as history is of actions in nature as they 
are, that is past ; " * and it is under this head, of course, 
that we may infer he would bring dramatic poetry : in the 
De Augmentis, he expressly designates the three kinds as 
" ant Narrativa, ant Dramatica, aut Paraholica" 2 

" Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and 
Tragedies " are precisely such feigned histories, representa- 
tive visible histories, or speaking pictures, as are here sup- 
posed. Bacon's philosophical, political, and legal writings, 
were his labors : the Essays and certain " other unnamed 
particulars of that kind " (in which we may include his 
tributes to the Muses), were the recreations of his other 
studies ; for, says he, " all science is the labor and handi- 
craft of the mind : poetry can only be considered its recre- 
ation." 3 Of poesy in general, he says, " it is a part of 
learning in measure of words for the most part restrained, 
but in all other points extremely licensed, and doth truly 
refer to the imagination ; which, being not tied to the laws 
of matter, may at pleasure join that which nature hath 
severed, and sever that which nature hath joined, and so 
make unlawful matches and divorces of things : Pictoribus 
atque poetis, &c." So, we remember, — 

"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact." 

In respect of words, again, it is but u one of the arts of 
speech," but in respect of matter, " it is one of the principal 
portions of learning, and is nothing else but feigned history, 
which may be styled as well in prose as in verse. The use 
of this feigned history hath been to give some shadow of 
satisfaction to the mind of man in those points wherein the 
nature of things doth deny it, the world being in proportion 

1 Adv. of Learn., Book II. 

2 Lib. II. c. 13. 

s Int. Globe, Works (Mont.), XV. 150. 



BACON A POET. 199 

inferior to the soul ; by reason whereof there is, agreeable to 
the spirit of man, a more ample greatness, a more exact good- 
ness, and a more absolute variety, than can be found in the 
nature of things. Therefore, because the acts or events of 
true history have not tl at magnitude which satisfieth the 
mind of man, poesy feigneth acts and events greater and 
more heroical : because true history propoundeth the suc- 
cesses and issues of actions not so agreeable to the merits 
of virtue and vice, therefore poesy feigns them more just 
in retribution, and more according to revealed providence : 
because true history representeth actions and events more 
ordinary, and less interchanged, therefore poesy endueth 
them with more rareness, and more unexpected and alterna- 
tive variations : so as it appeareth that poesy serveth and 
conferreth to magnanimity, morality, and delectation. And 
therefore it was ever thought to have some participation of 
divineness, because it doth raise and erect the mind, by 
submitting the shows of things to the desires of the mind ; 
whereas reason doth buckle and bow the mind unto the 
nature of things. And we see, that by these insinuations 
and congruities with man's nature and pleasure, joined 
also with the agreement and consort it hath with music, it 
hath had access and estimation in rude times and barbar- 
ous regions, where other learning stood excluded." * 

Surely, this is such an account of the true nature, scope, 
and use of poetry, as might be expected to come from the 
author of those illustrative and imperishable examples of 
these very doctrines, the plays of Shakespeare. The ex- 
cellent critical judgment of Professor Gervinus did not fail 
to discover, that " Shakespeare appears to have entertained 
the same views with Lord Bacon." 2 Delia Bacon made 
the same discovery. In fact, these plays constitute a new 
and altogether superior kind of dramatic writing. " They 
are," says Coleridge, " in the ancient sense, neither trag- 
edies, nor comedies, nor both in one, but a different genus, 
1 Adv. of Learn., Book II. 2 Shakes. Com., II. 549. 



200 BACON A POET. 

diverse in kind, and not merely different in degree. They 
may be called romantic dramas, or dramatic romances." l 
We may as well call them, at once, representative visible 
histories, or speaking pictures, illustrative examples, or 
types and models of the whole process of the mind and the 
continuous frame and order of discovery in particular sub- 
jects, the most dignified, selected for their variety and im- 
portance, after the manner of Francis Bacon, and in the 
most consummate style of the art which mends nature. 
Verily, this critical exposition by Bacon himself would 
seem to furnish an explicit and satisfactory interpretation 
of his own actual meaning (first propounded by Delia 
Bacon), when he speaks, in the introduction to the Fourth 
Part of the Great Installation, of those " illustrative ex- 
amples" and " actual types and models" in immediate con- 
nection with the subject of that " true art" which "is 
always capable of advancing." 

He also understood that further use of poetry allusive or 
parabolical, one object of which was, " to retire and ob- 
scure," as well as " to demonstrate and illustrate," what is 
" to be taught or delivered ;" that is, " when the secrets and 
mysteries of religion, policy, or philosophy, are involved in 
fables or parables." This use of poetry is certainly not with- 
out ample illustration in the greater plays of Shakespeare. 
Some of them teach things never dreamed of in the ordinary 
philosophy, much less in any that can well be ascribed to 
William Shakespeare, or any man that ever lived with a per- 
sonal history like his ; not to speak of the many lesser here- 
sies, Arian or other, for which sundry Bartholomew Legates 
were burned at a stake, in those days, and, for the like of 
which, in plain prose, the Royal Thunderer would hurl his 
fulminations against Vorstius, even across the English Chan- 
nek No man knew better than Bacon how few persons in 
his own age, or perhaps in almost any other, would be found 
capable of appreciating, or even understanding at all, the 

1 Progress of the Drama, Works of Coleridge, IV. 35. 



BACON A POET. 201 

Novum Organum and his deeper philosophical works. The 
secrets contained in these were sufficiently obscured from 
the vulgar by the very character of the writings themselves. 
But he was also, not only fully aware of the great value of 
the poetical form of delivery, but able to make good and 
effectual use of it, for the purpose of withdrawing opinions, 
doctrines, secrets, and mysteries from the reach of vulgar 
censure and public persecution, while yet communicating 
them with sufficient clearness to the initiated, who might 
have an eye to see, and, at the same time, with a certain 
prophetic indistinctness and general effect, to the common 
mind of the theatre, which might thereby be instructed, 
until, at length, it should find its old errors and superstitions 
undermined, without knowing that they had been attacked ; 
somewhat in the same manner as Euripides and other 
ancient poets, and even Dante, Milton, and Goethe, among 
the moderns, assailed the superstitious mythology and 
erroneous popular notions of the ages in which they lived. 
Indeed, we learn from himself, that " born in an age when 
religion was in no very prosperous state," he had endeavored 
to rise to civil dignities, for one thing, in order that, by the 
exercise of his genius, he might the better " effect some- 
thing which would be profitable for the salvation of souls." 
He dreaded " no incursions of barbarians " in his time, but 
he foresaw that " civil wars " were about to arise, involving 
many countries, and " that from the malignity of religious 
sects, and from those compendious systems of artifice and 
caution " which had " crept into the place of erudition," no 
less " a tempest" was impending " over literature and 
science." 1 

He kept this general purpose in view in all his writings. 
Speaking of the Great Instauration, he says, " yet, never 
theless, I have just cause to doubt, that it flies too high over 
men's heads ; have a purpose therefore, though I break the 
order of time, to draw it down to the sense, by some pat- 
1 Prooemium: Craik's Bacon, 612-13. 



202 BACON A POET. 

terns of a Natural Story or Inquisition." l Towards the 
close of his life, was written the ;; New Atlantis " (published 
after his death), which was doubtless one of those patterns 
of a natural story, or feigned history, " devised," says Dr. 
Rawley, "to the end that he might exhibit therein a model 
or description of a College, instituted for the interpreting 
of nature, and the producing of great and marvellous works 
for the benefit of men, under the name of Solomon's House, 
or College of the Six Day's Works." 2 This was one kind ; 
but there may very well have been another class of patterns 
or models, and the order of time may have been broken, in 
respect of these, long before. Indeed, we are expressly 
told, in the introduction to the Novum Organum, that the 
Fourth Part of his great work was to have for its very 
object and intent to exhibit u some examples " of his method 
as applied to " the most dignified subjects " of inquiry ; " we 
mean," says he, "actual types and models, calculated to 
place, as it were, before our eyes, the whole process of the 
mind and the continuous frame and order of discovery in 
particular subjects, selected for their variety and impor- 
tance." It is certain that this Fourth Part never appeared 
as such : it lay under subjection, perhaps, to a fate as inex- 
orable as that Sixth Part itself, which, as he tells us, could 
not even be undertaken, in his clay, though he hoped to be 
able to make a " no contemptible beginning " ; but which 
would have for its object, not only " contemplative enjoy- 
ment," but " the common affairs and fortune of mankind, 
and a complete power of action," and for its end, to raise, 
at last, upon those preliminary u foundations " which could 
then be instituted and established, and finally to complete, 
the superstructure of " Philosophy itself." 3 

Nor is it necessary to suppose, that these plays were 
actually intended to constitute that contemplated Fourth 
Part, or that they were written with that immediate view ; 

1 Ded. Epist. to Bishop Andrews. 

2 Pref. to New Atlantis. 3 Intro, to Nov. Org. 



BACON A POET. 203 

but that they were written upon the same philosophical 
theory, and with the same general purpose in view, and 
that they might finally have been considered as answering 
very well as a fitting substitute for one part of it, or that 
they may now be taken as illustrating the general scope, 
purpose, and intent of that Fourth Part, can scarcely be 
doubted. Certainly, it must be admitted, that they answer 
the purpose admirably well. It could not have been any 
systematic treatise of psychology that was intended : such a 
treatise would rather belong to the Sixth Part, the Fhil- 
osopJtia Prima come full circle, or Philosophy itself. It is 
altogether more probable, that these " illustrative exam- 
ples " or "types and models " were to participate in that 
" sweet travelling through universal variety," of which we 
have a hint in the Hermit's Speech in the Masque. 

In another Masque, that which was performed at the 
Christmas Revels of Gray's Inn, in 1594, and in which he 
foreshadows something of the general scope of his phil- 
osophical schemes, and prefigures our modern scientific 
libraries, museums, laboratories, and zoological and botan- 
ical gardens, he gives us this hint of his conception of a 
model : — ■ 

" Next, a spacious, wonderful garden, wherein whatsoever 
plant the sun of divers climates, out of the earth of divers 
moulds, either wild or by the culture of man brought forth, 
may be with that care that appertaineth to the good pros- 
pering thereof set and cherished. This garden to be built 
about with rooms to stable in all rare beasts and to cage in 
all rare birds ; with two lakes adjoining, the one of fresh 
water, the other of salt, for like variety of fishes. And so 
you may have in small compass a model of universal nature 
made private." * These models were to have a wide range 
and compass in their application to particular subjects, 
which were by no means to be confined to physical science 
merely, but were to comprehend universal nature and all 

1 Masque; Letters and Life by Spedding, I. 335. 



204 BACON A POET. 

philosophy. " And for myself," he says again, " I am not 
raising a capitol or pyramid to the pride of man, but laying 
a foundation in the human understanding for a holy temple 
after the model of the world" : * yet, he continues, again, 
" may God never permit us to give out the dream of our 
fancy as a model of the world." 2 And, in the play of 
Richard II., written a year or two after these Masques, we 
have from himself (perhaps), in the garden scene, an ex- 
emplification of his idea of a model as applied to the state 
and civil affairs, in these lines : — 

" 1 Servt. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, 
Keep law and form, and due proportion, 
Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate, 
When our sea-wall' d garden, the whole land, 
Is full of weeds ? " — Act III. Sc. 4. 

And again, thus : — 

" England ! model to thy inward greatness, 
Like little body with a mighty heart, 
What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, 
Were all thy children kind and natural ! " 

Henry V., Act II., Chor. 

In short, the foundations were to be laid, not of physical 
science only, but of metaphysical science also. We were 
to have " a scaling-ladder of the intellect," which, pursuing 
" the thread of the labyrinth," should disclose kt the several 
degrees of ascent," whereby only it was possible for men to 
climb up to the top of "the magnificent temple, palace, city, 
and hill " of the great man of the New Atlantis, who wore an 
aspect " as if he pitied men," as it had been a " Scala Cceli " 
or "ladder to all high designs," 3 — that hill of the Muses, 
" above tempests, always clear and calm ; a hill of the good- 
liest discovery that man can have, being a prospect upon 
all the errors and wanderings of the present and former 

1 Trans, of the Nov. Org. by Spedding, Works (Boston), VIII. 151. 

2 Introd. to Nov. Org. 

3 Troilus and Cressida. 



BACON A POET. 205 

times : — yea, in some cliff it leadeth the eye beyond the 
horizon of time, and giveth no obscure divination of times 
to come : " 2 — 

"Glos, There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep: 
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear, 
With something rich about me: from that place 
I shall no leading need: " — Lear, Act IV Sc. 1. 

that same " high and pleasant hill " of the " Timon " that 
was " conceiv'd to scope " : — 

b This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 
With one man beckon'd from the rest below, 
Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
In our condition : " — Timon, Act I. Sc. 1. 

and once arrived at the " mountain tops " and " uppermost 
elevations of nature," 2 whence might be had some true 
glimpse of " the top of judgment" 3 and " spring-head " 4 
of all science, we might then begin to comprehend " Phi- 
losophy itself : " — 

" Gbs. When shall we come to the top of that same hill ? " 

Lear, Act IV. Sc. 6. 

In the earlier part of his life, he found it safer and better, 
and perhaps more in accordance with the bent of his genius, 
to stand upon the hill of the Muses, where he could avail 
himself of his representative visible histories, speaking 
pictures, types and models, fables and parables, to demon- 
strate and illustrate, or retire and obscure, the secrets and 
mysteries of religion, policy, or philosophy, after the man- 
ner of all ancient poetry, heathen or sacred, and in a style 
and form and essence that should equal, if not surpass it 
altogether. 

But in the later part of his life, when he had mounted 

1 Essex's Masque. 2 Scaling-Ladder. 

8 Measure for Measure. 4 Adv. of Learn* 



206 BACON A POET. 

to the height of power in the state, and become the keeper 
of the King's conscience and his seals, when his faculties 
had become more " compounded," and " stiff with age," yet 
with matured power and vigor of intellect, he would more 
boldly enter " the judicial palace of the mind," and would 
venture, by the help of " new found methods and com- 
pounds strange " * to complete, and by the help of princely 
dedications to promulgate, a systematic renovation and 
instauration of science and philosophy ; for, as he himself 
says, this poesy, " being as a plant that cometh of the lust 
of the earth, without a formal seed, it hath sprung up and 
spread abroad more than any other kind [of learning] : but 
to ascribe unto it that which is due, for the expressing of 
affections, passions, corruptions, and customs, we are be- 
holden to poets more than to the 7 philosopher's works ; and 
for wit and eloquence, not much less than to orators' 
harangues. But it is not good to stay too long in the 
theatre. Let us now pass to the judicial place or palace of 
the mind, which we are to approach and view with more 
reverence and attention " : — 2 

" Pry'thee, speak : 
Falseness cannot come from thee ; for thou look'st 
Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace 
For the crown'd Truth to dwell in." — Per., Act V. Sc. 1. 

For, as we remember, the Muses "give alms continually 
at their gate ; but few they have ever admitted into their 
palace." 

And in 1623, he opens the third book of the De 
Angmentis (taking the elegant and very literal version of 
Wats) thus : — 

"All History, excellent King, treads upon the earth, and 
performs the office of a guide rather than of a light ; and 
Poesy is, as it were, the dream of Knowledge ; a sweet 
pleasing thing, full of variations, and would be thought to 
be somewhat inspired with divine rapture ; which dreams 

1 Sonnet 2 Adv. of Learn., Book II. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 207 

likewise present. But it is time for me to awake, and to 
raise myself from the earth, cutting the liquid air of Phi- 
losophy and Sciences." * And the poet in the " Timon " 
expresses himself much in the same way : — 

"My free drift 
Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice 
Infects one comma in the course I hold, 
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, 
Leaving no tract behind/' — Act I. Sc. 1. 

But here, it was "fastigia scilicet rerum tantummodo trac- 
tans" 2 And before finally taking leave of the stage, he 
adds, in the De Augmentis, the following very remarkable 
passage to what he had before said in the Advancement 
on this subject, viz. : — 

" Dramatic poesy, which takes the theatre for the world, 
is of excellent use, if it be sane. For the discipline as well 
as the corruption of the theatre may be very great. And 
in mischiefs of this kind it abounds : the discipline is 
plainly neglected in our times. Although in modern 
states, play-acting is esteemed but as a ludicrous thing, 
except when it is too satirical and biting ; yet among the 
ancients, it became a means of forming the souls of men to 
virtue. Even the wise and prudent, and great philosophers, 
considered it to be, as it were, the plectrum of the mind. 
And most certainly, what is one of the secrets of nature, 
the minds of men, when assembled together, are more open 
to affections and impressions than when they are alone." 3 

§ 7. GESTA GRATORU3I. 

In December, 1594, less than a year before this Masque 
was written for Essex, Bacon had taken a principal part in 
the preparations for the Christmas Revels at Gray's Inn, 

1 De Aug., (Craik's Bacon, 285). 

2 De Aug. Scient., Lib. III. c. 1. 
s Ibid. II. c. 13. 



208 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

which were celebrated with especial splendor in that year. 
A contemporary account of these Revels, drawn up by some 
unknown author, and entitled t; Gesta Gray o rum " (first 
printed in 1688), has been preserved also in Nichols' 
« Progresses of Queen Elizabeth," and it is cited by Mr. 
Spedding as worthy of credit ; 1 from which it appears 
that Francis Bacon was particularly active and zealous 
in his efforts to entertain the Queen and her courtiers 
as well as to sustain the ancient renown of that wor- 
shipful society in the field of wit and learned sports. 
" A still more sumptuous masque was intended," thinks 
Nichols, 2 " if we may judge from the following letter from 
the great Bacon," which (according to Spedding) was 
found in the Lansdown collection of Lord Burghley's 
papers, and was most probably addressed to him, though 
on what precise occasion it is not certainly ascertained. It 
reads thus : — 

" It may please your good Lordship, — I am sorry the joint 
Masque from the Four Inns of Court f'aileth ; wherein I conceive 
there is no other ground of that event but impossibility. Never- 
theless, because it falleth out that at this time Gray's Inu is well 
furnished of gallant young gentlemen, your Lordship may be 
pleased to know, that rather than this occasion shall pass without 
some demonstration of affection from the Inns of Court, there 
are a dozen gentlemen of Gray's Inn, that, out of the honour 
which they bear to your Lordship and my Lord Chamberlain, to 
whom at their last Masque, they were so much bounden, will 
be ready to furnish a Masque ; wishing it were in their power 
to perform it according to their mind, and so for the present I 
humbly take my leave, resting your Lordship's very humble and 
much bounden 

"Fk. Bacon." 

The letter is without date or address. Nichols connects 
it with the masque of 1594. Spedding thinks it might 

i Nichols' Prog. Q. Eliz. (London, 1823), III. 262; Letters and Life of 
Bacon, by Spedding, I. 325-342, (London, 1861). 
' 2 Prog. Q. Eliz. I. p. xx ; Spedd. Letters and Life, II. 370. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 209 

possibly be referred to the year 1596, when Bacon wrote to 
the Earl of Shrewsbury from Gray's Inn " to borrow a 
horse and armour" for some public show. Collier supposes 
it to have been addressed to Lord Burghley, not long after 
1588. He finds that, during the Christmas Revels at 
Gray's Inn in 1587, a comedy, in which Catiline and the 
" Dominus de Purpoole " were leading characters, was 
exhibited by the Gentlemen of Gray's Inn, at their Hall, 
before Lord Burghley and other courtiers, on the lGth of 
January (1587-8) and that, on the 28th of February follow- 
ing, a tragedy of the " Misfortunes of Arthur " and certain 
" dumb-shews " in which " Mr. Francis Bacon " assisted, 
were presented before the Queen at Greenwich by the 
Gentlemen of this same Inn ; 1 and he assigns this letter to 
some subsequent occasion ; but neither he, nor Mr. Sped- 
ding, gives any data on which it can safely be referred to 
any other time than that supposed by Nichols. However 
this may be, it is certain that besides this tragedy of Arthur 
and " certain Devices and Shewes " by the Gentlemen of 
Gray's Inn, seven plays also were performed before the 
Queen by the Children of Paul's and " her Majesty's Ser- 
vants " of the theatre, during these Revels at Greenwich ; 
and the " dumb-shews and additional speeches were partly 
devised by William Fulbeck, Francis Flower, Christopher 
Yelverton, Francis Bacon, John Lancaster, and others, who 
with Master Penroodock and Lancaster directed these pro- 
ceedings at Court." 2 Here is incontestable proof that 
Francis Bacon was earnestly engaged in these dramatic 
entertainments in the same year in which William Shake- 
speare is supposed to have arrived in London to join the 
Blackfriars Company as an humble " servitor," as yet wholly 
unknown to fame as an actor or as an author, but (as some 
would have us believe) bringing with him pockets full of 
plays and poems already written. Mr. Knight presumes he 

1 Collier's Hist. Dram. Poetry, I. 266-8; (London, 1831). 

2 Knight's Biog. of Shakes., 326-7; (London, 1843). 

14 



210 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

played his part, perhaps furnished plays, for these very 
Revels ; and he indulges in some highly poetic speculations 
upon this first meeting of the philosopher and the poet, but 
imagines that the high position of the courtier, Francis 
Bacon, would forbid him having any acquaintance with the 
humble actor, though as yet Bacon had no reputation as a 
philosopher, and Shakespeare none as a poet. 

We need not wonder at this letter, whether it belong to 
this time or to some other, nor that upon this occasion, 
nevertheless, a magnificent Masque and other superb enter- 
tainments were easily forthcoming. Gray's Inn was turned 
into the court and kingdom of " Henry Prince of Purpoole," 
with all needful officers of State, not forgetting a Master of 
the Revels, and the sports continued for twelve days and 
more. Besides triumphal processions by land and water 
and various burlesque performances by day, there were 
certain " grand nights " of plays, masques, dumb-shows, 
banquets, and dances. The Queen received them at her 
palace, and the whole court attended on the chief occasions. 
The account states (as reprinted by Nichols) that on the 
second night (December 28th) " a Comedy of Errors (like 
unto Plautus his Menoechmus) was played by the players." 
Mr. Spedding agrees with others before him that this must 
have been the Shakespeare play, as no doubt it was. On 
this occasion, there was a crowded attendance and such a 
press of ladies, lords, and gentlemen, whose dignity and sex 
privileged them from interference, that there was scarcely 
room on the stage for the actors, and when the Templarian 
ambassador and his train arrived, " at nine o'clock," there 
was some confusion for want of room, and they " would not 
stay longer at that time, but retired, in a sort, discontented 
and displeased ; " and so, as the account states, some other 
" inventions " intended " especially for the gracing the Tem- 
plarians " had to be dispensed with, but the " dancing and 
revelling with gentlewomen" proceeded, and after these 
sports, the night closed with the performance of this play ; 



GESTA GRAYOEUM. 211 

SO that, as the account continues, " that night begun and 
continued to the end, in nothing but confusion and errors; 
whereupon it was ever afterwards called the Night of 
Errors." Mr. Spedding appears to think this play was 
regarded as u the crowning disgrace of this unfortunate 
Grand Night ; " but this would seem to be altogether a 
mistake, though it may be true enough, if it be understood 
that the offence taken was, after all, but a part of the sport, 
and, so far at least as the play was concerned, simply a 
mock-serious disgrace. It is plain it was not the play that 
offended the Templarians. In the fourth year of Eliza- 
beth's reign, a like round of Christmas Revels was cel- 
ebrated at the Inner Temple with equal splendor and 
magnificence, in which Lord Robert Dudley was elected 
" Mighty Palaphilos Prince of Sophie, High Constable, 
Marshall of the Knight Templars, and Patron of the Hon- 
ourable Order of Pegasus " ; and, on one night, there was a 
" Lord of Misrule " (a standing character on these occa- 
sions), and the banquet ended in mirth, minstrelsy, and 
wine, and, on the following night, there was a grand mock- 
trial at which the constable, marshal, and common-serjeant 
were arraigned for the " disorder " and humorously sent to 
the Tower. 1 And these later Revels at Gray's Inn seem 
to have been conducted much after the same model : in 
fact, this " Prince of Purpoole " appears to have been the 
standing prince of sports and "Lord of Misrule" at this 
Inn from 1587 until 1618, when the Students of Gray's 
Inn honored the Lord Chancellor Bacon with an exhibition 
before him of the " Tilt of Henry Prince of Purpoole " and 
the " Masque of Mountebanks," with an installation of the 
u Honourable Order of the Crescent " and a Song for his 
special " Entertainment." 2 At any rate, this " Night of 
Errors " was followed, on the very next night, with a mock- 
trial of the " sorcerer or conjurer that was supposed to be 

1 Shakes. England, by G. W. Thornbury, II. 363-9 ; (London, 1856). 

2 Nichols' Prog. James /., III. 466. 



212 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

the cause of that confused inconvenience " ; and the in- 
dictment concluded thus : " And lastly, that he had foisted 
a company of base and common fellows to make up our 
disorders with a play of Errors and Confusions, and that 
night had gained to us discredit and itself a nickname of 
Errors : All which were against the crown and dignity of 
our Sovereign Lord the Prince of Purpoole." But the 
verdict was, that they " were nothing else but vain illusions, 
fancies, and enchantments, which might be compassed by 
means of a poor harmless wretch that had never heard of 
such great matters in all his life ; " and so, the " sorcerer 
or conjurer" was pardoned, and the Attorney, Solicitor, and 
Master of Requests sent to the Tower for making so much 
ado about law. Of course, this was all in jest, if not a set 
part of the programme : — 

" Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, 
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here." 

Com. of Error s, Act IV. Sc, 3. 

And the hint of this conjurer most probably came from the 
play itself: — 

" Along with them 
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain, 
A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune teller, 
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 
A living dead man. This pernicious slave, 
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, 
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me, 
Cries out I was possess'd." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

Some " graver conceits " were produced on a subsequent 
night, including a Masque and a formal induction of the 
Ambassador and twenty-four Templarians into the Honour- 
able Order of the Helmet, together with " divers plots and 
devices," beginning with a dumb-show, which represented 
the reconciliation of the offended Templarians ; for their 
displeasure was not so deep but that a grand procession of 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 213 

all the heroic examples of friendship, Theseus and Per- 
ithous, Achilles and Patroclus, Pylades and Orestes, Scipio 
and Laelius, and lastly Graius and Templarius, "arm in 
arm," before the altar of the Arch-flamen of the Goddess 
of Amity, surrounded with singing nymphs and fairies, was 
sufficient to restore and cement the ancient " leaoue of 
brotherhood and love between the two Inns." The reading 
of the Articles for the regulation of the Heroical Order of 
the Helmet was followed with a variety of music and a 
banquet served by the Knights of the Order. This being 
over, a table was set on the stage before the royal throne, 
around which sat six privy counsellors, and the Masque 
proceeded. The Prince asked their advice, and each an- 
swered in succession. The first advised war ; the second, 
the study of philosophy ; the third, the eternal fame to be 
acquired by building ; the fourth, the absoluteness of 
state and treasure ; the fifth praised virtue and a gracious 
government ; and the sixth, pastimes and sports. The 
Prince preferred the last ; and the evening ended with 
dancing. 

On this occasion, the Lord Keeper, Lord Treasurer, and 
numerous courtiers and great persons, and among them the 
Earls of Essex and Southampton, were present. The 
speeches of the Masque are given by Mr. Spedding as 
unquestionably the work of Bacon ; and the presence of 
these great officers of state may explain why the matter 
of them is made to point more nearly to those great reforms 
and improvements which he was so diligently urging upon 
the attention of his time and country ; for he sought, on all 
occasions, to mingle instruction with amusement. 

Mr. Spedding also gives the Articles that were drawn up 
for the government of the new Order of the Helmet, but 
he seems to # think that these were not written by Bacon; 
and he tells the story of these Revels in such a manner as 
to exclude the idea that Bacon was the actual author of 
anything but the Masque ; though he admits, as a probable 



214 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

conjecture, that he had a hand in the general design, as he 
had a taste in such things, and did sometimes take part in 
them. In fact, his hand is also distinctly visible, both in 
the articles and in the play. The wit of both is of the 
same order, and decidedly in the Baconian and Shake- 
spearean vein. Being written at nearly the same time and 
as distinct parts of one and the same series of performances, 
we should not expect any identity beyond the general style 
and manner and those minute out-croppings and remote 
echoes of the same ideas, images, and words, of which the 
author himself would be almost, if not quite unconscious ; 
but which, nevertheless, are enough to enable an attentive 
ear to mark his individuality ; as in the following instances, 
compared with the Articles : — 

ORDER OF THE HELMET. 1 

" Imprimis. Every Knight of this Honourable Order, whether he be a 
natural subject or a stranger bora, shall promise never to bear arms against 
his Highness' sacred person, nor his state; but to assist him in all his lawful 
wars, and maintain all his just pretences and titles; especially his High- 
ness' title to the land of the Amazons and the Cape of Good Hope.'' 

" Ant. S. .Where America, the Indies? 

Dro. S. ! sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, car- 
buncles, saphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who 
sent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose." — Act J II. Sc. 2. 

" Item. No Knight of this Order, in point of order, shall resort to any 
grammar-rules out of the books De Duello, or such like; but shall out of his 
own brave mind and natural courage deliver himself from scorns, as to his 
own discretion shall seem convenient.'' 

" Touch. *0 sir, we quarrel in print by the book; as you have books for 
good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Cour- 
teous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the 
fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome ; the 
sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these 
you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that, too, with an 
1 If.' " — As You Like It, Act V. Sc. 4. 2 # 

1 letters and Life, by Spedding, I. 329. 

2 Both passages doubtless allude to the same book " De Duello" or " Of 
Honour and Honourable Quarrels," by Vincentio Saviolo, printed in 1594. 
White's Shakes. (Notes), IV. 384. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 215 

" Laun. Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; ' Via ! ' says the 
fiend; ' away! ' says the hend; ' for the Heavens, rouse up a brave mind,' 
says the hend, ' and run.' " — Mer. of Ven., Act II. Sc. 2. 

" Jtem. No Knight of this Order shall be inquisitive towards any lady 
or gentleman, whether her beauty be English or Italian, or whether with 
care-taking she have added half a foot to her stature; but shall take all to 
the best. Neither shall any Knight of the aforesaid order presume to affirm 
that faces were better twenty years ago than they are at this present time, 
except such knight have passed three climacteral years." 

" jEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
At eighteen years became inquisitive 
After his brother." — Com. of Err., Act I. Sc. 1. 
" To conclude: no man can by care-taking (as the Scripture saith) add a 
cubit to his stature, in this little model of a man's body." — Essay xxix. 

This word u twenty " is used in this maimer as an ex- 
pletive, times almost without number, in both Bacon and 
Shakespeare : it is one of his words. 

11 Item. Every Knight of this Order is bound to perform all requisite and 
manly service, be it night-service or otherwise, as the case requireth, to all 
ladies and gentlemen, beautiful by nature or art, ever offering his aid with- 
out any demand thereof, and if in case he fail so to do, he shall be deemed 
a match of disparagement to any of his Highness' widows or wards-female; 
and his Excellency shall in justice forbear to make any tender of him to any 
such ward or widow." 

" But to our honour's great disparagement." — Act J. Sc. 1. 

" Eva. ... If Sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto 
you." — Mer. Wives, Act I. Sc. 1. 

u Item. No Knight of this Order shall procure any letters from his High- 
ness to any widow or maid, for his enablement or commendation to be 
advanced in marriage; but all prerogative, wooing set apart, shall forever 
cease as to any of those Knights, and shall be left to the common laws of 
this land, declared by the statute Quia electiones liberie tsse debent" 

u Dro. S. I am an ass; I am a woman's man, and besides myself. 

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that 
claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. 

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she 
would have me as a beast: not that, I being a beast, she would have me; 
but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. 

Ant. S. What is she? 

Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak 
Df, without he say, sir-reverence. I have but lean luck in the match, and 
yet she is a wondrous fat marriage." — Act III Sc. 2. 



216 GESTA GKAYOUUM. 

" Item. No Knight of this Honourable Order, in case he shall grow into 
decay, shall procure from his Highness [for his] relief and sustentation any 
monopolies or privileges, except only these kinds following : that is to say, 
upon every tobacco-pipe, not being one foot wide. Upon every lock that is 
worn, not being seven foot long. Upon every health that is drunk, not 
being of a glass five foot deep. And upon every maid in his Highness' 
province of Islington, continuing a virgin after the age of fourteen years, 
contrary to the use and custom in that place always had and observed." 

14 Dro. S. ... — he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives 
them suits of durance." — Act 1 V. Sc. 3. 

" Against the laws and statutes of this town." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

" — the great reverence and formalities given to your laws and customs, 
in derogation of your absolute prerogatives." — Masque. 

" And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
Of healths five fadom deep." — Rom. and Jul., Act I. Sc. 4. 

" Item. No Knight of this Order shall have any more than one mistress, 
for whose sake he shall be allowed to wear three colours. But if he will 
have two mistresses, then must he wear six colours; and so forward, after 
the rate of three colours to a mistress." 

It is probable that in the mind of the writer, these " col- 
ours " had some kinship with the " Colours of Good and 
Evil." 

" Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously ; and 
as a certain Father saith — 

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the Father; I do fear colourable colours." — 
Love's L. L., Act 1 V. Sc. 2. 

" Item. No Knight of this Order shall put out any money upon strange 
returns or performances to be made by his own person ; as to hop up the 
stairs tc the top of St. Paul's without intermission; or any such like agilities 
or endurances; except it may appear that the same performances or prac- 
tices do enable him to some service or employment; as if he do undertake 
to go a journey backward, the same shall be thought to enable him to be 
an ambassador into Turkey." 

u King. This is the English, not the Turkish court; 
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, 
But Harry, Harry." — 2 Hen. IV., Act V. Sc. 2. 

" Eno. [Speaking of Cleopatra]. I saw her once 
Hop forty paces through the public street." — Ant. and Cleo. Act II Sc. 2. 
" K. lien. . . . Shall not thou and I, between St. Denis and St. George, 
compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople, 
and take the Turk by the beard ? " — Hen. V., Act V. Sc. 2. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 217 

" Such a man 
Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
"Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 
But goers backward." —All's Well, Act I. Sc. 2. 

" — or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of." 

lb. Act II. Sc. 3. 

" Item. No Knight of this Order that hath had any license to travel into 
foreign countries, be it by map, card, sea, or land, and hath returned from 
thence, shall presume upon the warrant of a traveller to report any extra- 
ordinary varieties; as that he hath ridden through Venice on horseback 
post, or that in December he sailed up the Cape of Norway, or that he hath 
travelled over the most part of the countries of Geneva, or such like 
Iryperboles, contrary to the statute Propterea quod dlversos terrarum ambitus 
errant et vagantur, etc.' n 

" Extraordinary varieties " is particularly Baconian. 

" Could all my travels warrant me they live." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
— — " sweet travelling through the universal variety." — Masque, 
" Ant. S. "What 's her name ? 

Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and 
three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. 
Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? 

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is 
spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

And then, the countries are named much in the same 
style of hyperbole as in this article, and with even greater 
freedom of wit, as any one may see by reference to the 
play ; and in the " Love's Labor 's Lost," written a few years 
prior to this date, we find his mind running on the same 
key, as thus : — 

" Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, 
Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affection, 
Figures pedantical." — Act V. Sc. 2. 

And it is Bacon who says, — 

" That the speaking in a perpetual hyperbole is comely in nothing but 
love." — Essay x. 

" Boni. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? 
I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise 
tO set me on ; I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the farthest inch of 
Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the 
great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather than 
hold three words' conference with this harpy." — Much Ado, Act II. Sc. 1. 



218 GESTA GKAYORUM. 

" Item. Every Knight of this Order shall do his endeavour to be in the 
books of the worshipful citizens of the principal city next adjoining to the 
territories of Purpoole; and none shall unlearnedly, or without booking, pay 
ready money for any wares or other things pertaining to the gallantness ot 
his Honour's Court; to the ill example of others, and utter subversion of 
credit betwixt man and man." 

" Afer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city? 
Aug. Of very reverend reputation, sir, 

Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, 

Second to none that lives here in the city." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

" Alas, poor women ! make us but believe, 
Being compact of credit, that you love us." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

" li°jn. Every Knight of this Order shall apply himself to some or other 
virtuous qualitv or ability of learning, honour, or arms: and shall not think 
it sufficient to come into his Honour's presence-chamber in good apparel 
only, or to be able to keep company at play or gaming. For such it is 
already determined that they be put and taken for implements of household, 
and are placed in his Honour's inventory." 

" Ollv. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers 
schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and 
utensil, labell'd to my will: as, item, too lips, indifferent red; item, two 
gray eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth." — 
Twelfth Night, Act 1. Sc. 5. 

" Item. Every Knight of this Order shall endeavour to add conference 
and experience to reading; and therefore shall not only read and peruse 
Guizo, the French Academy, Galiatto the Courtier, Plutarch, the Arcadia, 
and the Neoterical writers, from time to time; but also frequent the theatre 
and such like places of experience; and resort to the better sort of ordinaries 
for conference, whereby they may not only become accomplished with civil 
conversation and able to govern a table with discourse; but -also sufficient, 
if need be, to make epigrams, emblems, and other devices appertaining to 
his Honour's learned revels." 

" Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom, 

Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 

Plead on her part some cause to you unknown." — Act III. Sc. 1. 

" Adv. It was the copy of our conference." — Act V. S:. 1. 

" What! nothing but tasks, nothing but working days? No feasting, no 
music, no dancing, no triumphs, no comedies, no love, no ladies? Let other 
men's lives be as pilgrimages, because they are tied to divers necessities and 
duties; but princesMives are as progresses, dedicated only to variety and 
solace," — Mosque. 

" In the afternoon 
We will with some strange pastime solace them, 
Such as the shortness of the time can shape; 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 219 

For revels, dances, masques, and merry hours, 
Fore-ran fail Love, strewing her way with flowers." 

Loves Labor 's Lost, Act IV Sc. 3. 

" Item. No Knight of this Order shall give out what gracious words the 
Prince hath given him, nor leave word at his chamber, in case any come to 
speak with him, that he is above with his Excellency, nor cause his man 
when he shall be in any public assembly to call him suddenly to go to the 
Prince, nor cause any packet of letters to be brought at dinner or supper- 
time, nor say that he had the refusal of some great office, nor satisfy suitors 
to say his Honour is not in any good disposition, nor make any narrow 
observation of his Excellency's nature and fashions, as if he were inward 
privately with his Honour; contrary to the late inhibition of selling of 
smoke." 

" Adr. What observation mad'st thou in this case, 
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? " — Act 1 V. Sc. 2. 

" Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke." ■ — 
Meas.for Mens., Act III. Sc. 2. 

" Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs." — Rom. and J., Act I. Sc. 1. 

" They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 
To make a faithless error in your ears." — K. John, Act IT. Sc. 1. 

" Wherefore, first of all, most virtuous Prince, assure yourself of an inward 
peace." — Musque 

" Bene. And though you know my inwardness and love 
Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio." — Much Ado, Act IV. Sc. 1. 

" Opinion is a master-wheel in these cases: that courtier who obtained a 
boon of the emperor, that he might every morning at his coming into the 
presence merely whisper him in the ear, and say nothing, asked no un- 
profitable suit for himself." — Advice to Vdliers. 

" Fal. . . . If I had a suit to Master Shallow, I would humour his men 
with the imputation of being near their master." — 2 Hen. 1 K, Act V. Sc. 1. 

" A servant or a favourite, if he be inward and no apparent cause of esteem, 
is commonly thought but a by-way to close corruption." — Essay of G real 
Place. 

" Who is most inward with the Duke? " — Rich. III., Act III. Sc. 4. 

" Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! " — Love's L. L., Act HI Sc. 1. 

" Arm. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure 
you, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let it pass. . . . 
By the world, I recount no fable : some certain special honours it pleaseth 
his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath 
seen the world; but let that pass." — Love's L. L., Act V. Sc. 1. 

u Item. Xo Knight of this Order shall be armed for the safeguard of his 
countenance with a poke in his mouth in the nature of a tooth-picker, or 



220 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

with any weapon in his hand, be it stick, plume, wand, or any such like. 
Neither shall he draw out of his pocket any book, or paper, to read, for the 
same intent; neither shall he retain any extraordinary shrug, nod, or any 
familiar motion or gesture, to the same end ; for his Highness of his gracious 
clemency is disposed to lend his countenance to all such Knights as are out 
of countenance." 

" Ant. E. And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

" JIol. I will not be put out of countenance. 
B'u\ Because thou hast no face. 

Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. 

And now, forward ; for we have put thee in countenance. 

IIol. You have put me out of countenance. 

Blr. False : we have given thee faces. 

Hvl. But you have out-fac'd them all." — Love's L. Z., Act V. Sc, 2. 

11 Bast. . . . Now your traveller, — 
He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess; 
And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, 
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechize 
My picked man of countries. . . . 
And talking of the Alps and Apennines, 
The Pyrenean and the river Po, 
It draws toward supper, in conclusion so. 
But this is worshipful society, 
And fits the mounting spirit, like myself; 
For he is but a bastard to the time, 
That doth not smack of observation ; 
And so am I, whether I smack, or no; 
And not alone in habit and device, 
Exterior form, outward accoutrement, 
But from the inward motion to deliver 
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth." 

K. John, Act 1. Sc. 1. 

" Item. No Knight of this Order that weareth fustian cloth, or such 
Statute apparel, for necessity, shall pretend to wear the same for the new 
fashion's sake." 

" Luc. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
Puts my apparel and my counfnance on, 
And I for my escape have put on his. 
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
I kill d a man, and fear I was descried." 

Tarn, of the Shrew, Act I. Sc. 1. 



" Tran. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion ; 
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd." — Ibid., Act III. Sc. 2. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 221 

u Item. No Knight of this Order in walking the streets or other places 
of resort, shall bear his hands in his pockets of his great rolled hose with 
the Spanish wheel, if it be not either to defend his hands from the cold, or 
else to guard forty shillings sterling, being in the same pockets." 

" Item. No Knight of this Order shall lay to pawn his Collar of Knight- 
hood for an hundred pounds; and if he do, he shall be ipso facto discharged; 
and it shall be lawful for any man whatsoever that will retain the same 
Collar for the term aforesaid, forthwith to take upon him the same Knight- 
hood, by reason of a secret virtue in the Collar; for in this order it is holden 
for a certain rule that the Knighthood followeth the Collar, and not the 
Collar the Knighthood." 

" Orl. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him. 
Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but his lackey; 
'tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate." 

Henry V., Act III. Sc. 1. 

" Item. That no Knight of this Order shall take upon him the person of 
a malcontent, in going with a more private retinue than appertaineth to his 
degree, and using but certain special obscure company, and commending 
none but men disgraced and out of office; and smiling at good news, as if 
he knew something that were not true; and making odd notes of his High- 
ness' reign, and former governments ; or saying that his Highness' sports 
were well sorted with a play of Errors ; and such like pretty speeches of 
jest, to the end that he may more safely utter his malice against his Excel- 
lency's happiness; upon pain to be present at all his Excellency's most 
glorious triumphs." 

Considering that these Revels were got up in imitation 
of the former occasion, when there was a " Lord of Mis- 
rule " and a mock- trial for the " disorders," it is altogether 
probable that these Articles were prepared beforehand, as 
the play certainly must have been, and that the humor of 
" a play of Errors " sorting with " his Highness' sports " was 
a part of the original programme, and not an afterthought. 

— " the difficulties and errors in the conclusion of nature." — Masque. 
"Ant. S. And thereupon these errors all arose." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

"Lew. And, sure, unless you send some present help. 
Between them they will kill the conjurer." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

— " or in pretty scorns or disdains to those that seemed to doubt of him." 

Hist, of Hen. VII. 

— " an index and obscure prologue." — Othello, Act II. Sc. 1. 

— " certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Anna- 
do." —Love's L. L., Act V. Sc. 1. 



222 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

"Lastly. All the Knights of this Honourable Order and the renowned Sov- 
ereign of the same shall yield all homage, loyalty, unaffected admiration, and 
all humble service, of what name or condition soever, to the incomparable 
Empress of the fortunate Island." 

The Masque itself alludes both to the Articles and the 
play in such manner as rather to indicate that the three 
performances were all of one piece, and came from one and 
the same source ; especially if it be considered, that they 
must all have been written before the Revels began ; and 
this is further evident from the fact that among the titles 
of the Prince, on the first day, was that of " Knight and 
Sovereign of the Honourable Order of the Helmet/' in like 
manner as before, when the Prince was named " Patron of 
the Honourable Order of Pegasus," and that in the em- 
blazonry of arms the Prince of Purpoole took "for his 
Highness' crest the glorious planet Sol, coursing through 
the twelve signs of the Zodiack or celestial globe, whereupon 
the nod fills Arctick and Antartick, with this motto : Dum 
totum peregravent orbem " ; of which there would seem to be 
a kind of reminiscence in these lines from the " Troilus and 
Cressida : " — 

" Degree being vizarded, 
The unworthiest shews as fairly in the mask. 
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, 
Observe degree, priority, and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Office, and custom, in all line of order: 
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol 
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
Amidst the other." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

And the resemblances between the masque and the play, 
if less numerous than those between the play and the 
articles, are not less striking when they occur, as for in- 
stance these : — 

"No conquest of Julius Caesar made him so renowned as the Calendar." 

Masque, 

"And yon the calendars of their nativity." — Play, Act V. Sc. 1. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 223 

" Have care that your intelligence, which is the light of your state, do not 
go out, or burn dim or obscure." — Masque. 

As a part of the order of the sports, on the day of the 
Prince's coronation, it is stated that — 

" Lucy Negro, Abbess of Clerkenwell, holdeth the nunnery of Clerken- 
well with the lands and privileges thereunto belonging of the Prince of 
Purpoole, by night service in cauda, and to find a choir of nuns, with 
burning lamps, to chaunt Placebo to the gentlemen of the Prince's Privy 
Chamber on the day of his Excellency's coronation." — Nichols\ III. 270: 
Gesta. 

"Dro. S. It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is 
an effect of fire, and fire will barn; ergo, light wenches will burn." — Play, 
Act IV. Sc.3. 

" That your Excellency be not as a lamp that shineth to others and yet 
seeth not itself, but as the Eye of the World, that both carrieth and useth 
light." — Masque. 

"Dro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitchen wench, and all grease ; and I 
know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her and run from 
her by her own light. I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them, will burn 
a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she '11 burn a week longer than 
the whole world." — Play, Act III. Sc. 2. 

And the same ideas and imagery appear again, thus : — 

"Gaunt. My oil-dried lamps and time-bewasted light 
Shall be extinct with age and endless night: 
My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
And blindfold Death not let me see my son." 

Etch. 1L, Act I. Sc. 3. 

And again, thus : — 

Ki Fal. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop, — but 
tis in the nose of thee: thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. . . . 
I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire and Dives that lived in purple; 
for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given 
to virtue, I would swear by thy face: my oath should be, By this fire, [that 
God's angel] : but thou art altogether given over, and wert, indeed, but for 
the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. ... 0, thou art a per- 
petual triumph, an everlasting bonfire -light! " — 1 Hen. IV. Act III. Sc. 3. 

Again, says Bacon, — 

" The spirit of man is the Lamp of God, wherewith he searcheth the 
inwardness of all secrets." — Advancement. 



224 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

And one of the speeches in the Masqu§ concludes 
thus : — 

"Neither do T, excellent Prince, restrain my speeches to dead buildings 
only, but intend it also to other foundations, institutions, nnd creations; 
wherein I presume the more to speak confidently, because I am warranted 
herein by your own wisdom, who have made the first fruits of your actions 
of State to institute the Honourable Order of the Helmet." 

Moreover, there are well-marked traces of the lawyer's 
hand throughout the play itself: indeed, there is very good 
internal evidence that the piece was written expressly for 
this occasion. And it is evident that the writer of this 
letter had not only invoked the aid of the " dozen young 
gentlemen of Gray's Inn " and their renowned compeers of 
the Inner Temple, but had also put in requisition the ser- 
vices of his friend of the Globe theatre, in fulfilment of his 
engagement, that although "the joint Masque of the Four 
Inns of Court" had failed, at least Gray's Inn and the 
courtly Francis Bacon would not fail, upon any occasion, to 
make an adequate " demonstration of affection " to the 
Queen, especially when expressly called upon from so high 
a source as her Majesty's prime minister. And the follow- 
ing passages, in particular, would seem to have been directly 
aimed at the gowned and wigged assembly, before whom the 
play was there first produced : — 

"Ant. S. By what rule, sir? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of Father 
Time himself. 

Ant. S. Let's hear it. 

Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald 
by nature. 

Ant S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of 
another man. 

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful 
an excrement? 

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he 
hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit. 

Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath more hair than wit. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 225 

Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair." 

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the 
world's end, will have bald followers. 
Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion." — Act II. Sc. 2. 

The whole interest of the fourth act turns on lawsuits, 
officers, and arrests. Angelo, the goldsmith, becomes litig- 
ious : — 

u Ang. This touches me in my reputation. — 
Either consent to pay this sum for me, 
Or I attach you by this officer. 

Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had? 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 

Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer. — 
I would not spare my brother in this case, 
If he should scorn me so apparently. 

Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit. 

Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail. — 
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear, 
As all the metal in your shop will answer. 

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

And Dromio's description of a " sergeant" (a bailiff), must 
have been particularly edifying to such an audience : — 

"Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well ? 

Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than Hell: 
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, 
One whose hard heart is button' d up with steel; 
A fiend, a fairy pitiless and rough; 
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; 
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands 
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands : 
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry foot well; 
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to Hell. 

Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? 

Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case." 

Act IV. Sc. 2. 

Of course, it is not impossible that William Shakespeare, 
without any special learning in the law, should have had 
some vague notion of what was meant by a "fine and 
recovery ," or an action "on the case"; but (what Lord 

15 



226 GESTA GRAYORUM. 

Campbell has remarked generally on the legal acquire- 
ments of this author) the entire accuracy of his use of 
legal terms and phrases (a kind of free-masonry which it 
would be dangerous for a novice to undertake to handle), 
and the subtle continuity and fitness of the legal ideas, 
analogies, imagery, and expression, which are woven into 
the very texture of the discourse, in the many places in 
these plays, where he has occasion to employ them, are of 
such a nature as to show, beyond the reach of doubt, that 
the mental habit of this writer was that of a professional 
lawyer as well as that of the poet, the scholar, and the 
philosopher. 

Further, on Twelfth Night, the Prince ascended his 
throne, the trumpets sounded, and six Knights of the Hel- 
met entered, dragging three monsters as prisoners, announc- 
ing that they had just returned from aiding the Emperor 
of Russia against the Tartars, and with the help of Virtue 
and Friendship had taken Envy, Malcontent, and Folly 
prisoners ; and before the Masque concluded, the King at 
Arms announced an ambassador from the Emperor with 
letters thanking the Prince and his Knights for their aid in 
driving away " an army of Bigarian thieves " and " a host 
of Negro Tartars." 1 And doubtless, it was to the same 
wit of invention that Dromio in the play was indebted for 
his u Tartar limbo worse than Hell." 

On the first of February following, there was a trium- 
phal procession of fifteen barges on the Thames, with stand- 
ards, pennants, flags, and streamers, music and trumpets, 
and firing of ordnance, in honor of the return of the Prince 
of Purpoole from Russia. The Queen invited him to land 
and do homage at Greenwich ; but he sent two ambassa- 
dors with an apologetic letter to decline the honor. At the 
Tower, a volley of ordnance was fired by the Queen's desire, 
and he was received at Gray's Inn with music and accla- 
mations. 

i ShaJcs. Eng., by G. W. Thornbury (London), II. 359. 



GESTA GRAYORUM. 227 

At Shrovetide, the Prince and his train went to Court, 
where another masque was performed before her Majesty. 
The actors were an Esquire, a Tartar page, Proteus, and 
two Tritons, Thamesis and Amphitrite ; and it began with 
a hymn to Neptune. The Squire's speech contained these 
lines in compliment to Elizabeth : — 

" Excellent Queen ! true adamant of hearts, 
Out of that sacred garland ever grew 
Garlands of virtues, beauties, and perfections, 
That crowns your crown, and dims your fortune's beams." 

The Queen was much pleased, and wished it had been 
longer. Next day the gentlemen were presented to her by 
the Lord Chamberlain : she gave them her hand to kiss, 
commanding Gray's Inn to study such sports for her fre- 
quent amusement. The same night, there was fighting in 
the barriers, the Earl of Essex and the challengers against 
the Earl of Cumberland and the defendants, the Prince of 
Purpoole winning the prize, a jewel set with seventeen 
diamonds and four rubies, which the Queen presented with 
her own hand. 

Surely, we need not wonder to find the young courtier, 
Francis Bacon, as yet only Queen's Counsel, exerting all 
the powers of his genius in the invention of these elegant, 
refined, and intellectual entertainments, in which his great 
patrons and friends, the Earls of Essex and Southampton, 
took so large a share, and which received thus the signal 
countenance and favor of their sovereign mistress. In 
fact, his contributions to these royal amusements continued 
far into the next reign and until he became Attorney- Gen- 
eral, when, ceasing to be an author in them, he began him- 
self to be the recipient of like honors on special occasions. 
As a part of the festivities in honor of the nuptials of the 
Princess Elizabeth and the Elector Palatine, during the 
Christmas Revels of 1612-13, it came again "to Gray's Inn 
and the Inner Temple's turn to come with their Masque 
whereof Sir Francis Bacon was the chief contriver," and 



228 FRAGMENTS. 

Mr. Phineas Pette was employed, as he says, " by the Gen- 
tlemen of Gray's Inn, whereof Sir Francis Bacon was chief, 
to bring the Masque by water to Whitehall," and u safely 
landed it at the Privy Stairs." The subject of this Masque, 
which was written by Francis Beaumont, was " the Mar- 
riage of the River of Thames to Rhine." 1 In the next year 
(Dec. 9 th, 1613), Sir Francis Bacon of his own motion, 
having been made Attorney-General in October preceding, 
prepares a Masque for his Majesty's entertainment, which, 
says the account, " will stand him in £2000," declining to 
accept a contribution towards it u of £500 from Gray's Inn 
and Mr. Yelverton," and he also "feasts the whole Univer- 
sity of Cambridge," at his own expense, now (as Chamber- 
lain writes) " rivaling Woolsey in magnificence " ; and the 
year after (1613-14) on Twelfth Night, the Gentlemen of 
Gray's Inn, " under the patronage of Sir Francis Bacon " 
and upon occasion of the marriage of the Duke of Somer- 
set, exhibit a " Masque of Flowers," which was printed, and 
dedicated by the authors "to the Very Honorable Sir 
Francis Bacon, His Majesty's Attorney- General." 2 

§ 8. FRAGMENTS. 

Still another Masque, or two fragments (for it breaks 
into two pieces), has been lately brought to light by the 
researches of Dixon and Spedding. 3 It comes from the same 
bundle of the Lambeth MSS., in which were found the 
speeches for the Essex Masque ; but it is a separate paper, 
in a handwriting of that age, without date, title, heading, or 
other mark of a strictly historical character, to indicate its 
origin or purpose. Mr. Spedding evidently believes the 
piece to have been written by Bacon ; and that such was the 
fact, there is scarcely any room for doubt, for it bears the 
impress of Bacon's mind and manner in every line of it. 

1 Nichols' Progr. James /., II. 587. 

2 Ibid. II. 734. 

3 Pers. Hist, of Lord Bacon, 73; Letters and Life, I. 386-391. 



FRAGMENTS. 229 

There is nothing to show that it was originally designed as 
a part of the Essex Masque, and the internal evidence is 
very strong that it belonged to another occasion, as early 
as 1594. One of the speakers is " the Squire" as usual, 
and his master Erophilus (Essex) is supposed to be doubt- 
ing in his love between the Queen and Philautia, the god- 
dess of self-love ; and the fragment begins with the Squire's 
speech, introducing "two wanderers," an "Indian youth." 
and " the attendant or conductor to the Indian prince," 
who is son of a mighty monarch in " the most retired part " 
of the " West Indias, near unto the fountain of the great 
river of the Amazons," whose ,; rare happiness in all things 
else is only eclipsed in the calamity of his son, this young 
prince, who was born blind." But there was " an ancient 
prophecy that it should be he that should expel the Castil- 
ians, a nation of strangers, which as a scourge hath wound 
itself about the body of that continent, though it hath not 
pierced near the heart thereof." And this " fatal glory " 
had caused the King his father "to visit his temples with 
continual sacrifices, gifts, and observances, to solicit his 
son's cure supernaturally." But at last an oracle was de- 
livered " out of one of the holiest vaults," to the effect that 
he should resort to her Majesty's court and person, and 
make sacrifice to her, if he would be restored to his sight ; 
and he comes with a " high conceit, aiming directly at " her 
Majesty's self. — Here the fragment breaks off. When it 
begins again, her Majesty has " wrought the strangest in- 
novation that ever was in the world " : his blindness has 
been supernaturally cured, and he has become " Seeing- 
Love." Philautia is several times named in the piece ; 
there are illusions in it to the Squire's master, which could 
be no other than " Erophilus " ; and the whole tenor of the 
story is strictly in keeping with the frame and character of 
the Essex Masque. One Latin quotation appears in both, 
k that which the poet saith was never granted Amare et 
saj)ere " ; which is quoted also in the Essay on Love thus : 



230 FRAGMENTS. 

Amare et Sapere vix Deo conceditur ; a circumstance, from 
which it might be inferred, that this portion had been for 
some reason laid aside by the writer. And it is curious to 
observe, that this ancient adage is introduced into the 
" Troilus and Cressida " in these lines : — 

" Cres. But you are wise, 

Or else you love not ; for to be wise and love 
Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above." — Act 111. Sc.2. 

Mr. Douce thought Shakespeare must have gotten it from 
Taverner's Translation of Publius Syrus ;* but it is very 
certain that this author had no occasion to go to Transla- 
tions for his Latin proverbs. 

This fragment does not in any way appear to have formed 
a part of the Essex Masque as it was actually exhibited. 
But whether it were written for this Masque, or some other, 
the more important thing to be noted here is the fact, that, 
in it, the Baconian poetical prose actually runs into Shake- 
spearean rhymed verse, under our very eyes, thus : — 

"And at last, this present year, out of one of the holiest vaults was 
delivered to him an oracle in these words : — 

Seated between the Old World and the New, 
A land there is no other land may touch, 
Where reigns a Queen in peace and honour true; 
Stories or fables do describe no such. 
Never did Atlas such a burden bear, 
As she, in holding up the world opprest; 
Supplying with her virtue everywhere 
Weakness of friends, errors of servants best. 
No nation breeds a warmer blood for war, 
And yet she calms them by her majesty: 
No age hath ever wits refined so far, 
And yet she calms them by her policy: 
To her thy son must make his sacrifice, 
If he will have the morning of his eyes. 

This oracle hath been both our direction hitherto, and the cause of our 
wearisome pilgrimage ; we do now humbly beseech your Majesty that we 

make experience whether we be at the end of our journey or not 

Masque, Spedding's Letters and Life, I. 388. 

1 See White's Shakespeare, IX., Notes, 153. 



FRAGMENTS. 231 

Now, if there be any trace of all this in the plays, we 
shall expect to find it in one of those which were written 
at about the same date, the " Midsummer Night's Dream " 
(1594), or the " Romeo and Juliet" (1595), and while the 
same ideas were fresh in the author's memory, and similar 
visions of the Indies were still floating in his imagination. 
Let us go, first, straight to the " Midsummer Night's Dream." 
In the first act, we find no sign of it, but in the second, the 
following passages come up in their order, in which the 
careful listener will scarcely fail, at once, to recognize their 
identities, and catch the ring of the same metal : — 

"Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you? 
Fairy. Over hill, over dale, 

Through bush, through brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Through flood, through fire, 
I do wander everywhere, 
Swifter than the moony sphere ; — 



Puck. I am that merry wanderer of the night. 

The King doth keep his revels here to-night. 

Take heed the Queen come not within his sight; 

For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 

Because that she, as her attendant, hath 

A lovely boy, stol'nfrom an Indian king: 

She never had so sweet a changeling : 

And jealous Oberon would have the child 

Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; 

But she perforce withholds the loved boy, 

Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her jcy. 

Tit. Why art thou here, 

Come from the farthest steep of India, 
But that % forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
Your buskin 1 d mistress and your warriour love, 
To Theseus must be wedded? 



Ober. I do but beg a little changeling boy, 
To be my henchman. 

Tit. Set your heart at rest: 

The Fairy-land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a vot'ress of my order ; 



232 FRAGMENTS. 

And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
Full oft hath she gossip' d by my side.- 



Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait 
Following her womb, (then rich with my young squire,) 
Would imitate, and sail upon the land 
To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandize. 



Puck. I remember. 

Ober. That very time I saw (but thou could'st not), 
Flying between the cold moon and the Earth, 
Cupid all anrCd: a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal throned by the West, 
And loos' d his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench' d in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon, 
And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free." — Act II. Sc. 2. 

It is plain we have here the same idea of the " wander- 
ers," the " Indian youth " born blind, or Cupid, " the attend- 
ant," and even " the Squire " (cropping out in a curious 
way), coming from the same " most retired part " or " farthest 
steep" of the Indies, near the fountains of the Amazon; 
and the same blind boy, Cupid, " armed after the Indian 
manner with bow and arrows," or " Cupid all arm'd," in his 
ordinary habit " an Indian naked," but now "for comeliness 
clad," has arrived in that land, — 

" Where reigns a Queen in peace and honour true ; 
Stories or fables do describe no such. 
Never did Atlas such a burden bear, 
As she, in holding up the world opprest; 
Supplying with her virtue everywhere 
Weakness of friends, errors of servants best; " — 

and, with "high conceit," he lets fly his love-shaft, "aim- 
ing directly at " her Majesty ; for he has come to make his 
sacrifice to " the fair vestal throned by the West," that he 
may have " the morning of his eyes." And in that " fatal 
glory " that was laid upon him by " an ancient prophecy," 
that he should rid his native India of that Castilian scourge, 



FRAGMENTS. 233 

which had " wound itself about the body of that continent," 
but had not " pierced near the heart thereof" we have another 
touch of those same " principles more deep and fatal," de- 
rived from " the ancient Cupid," which are of such potency 
as to "pierce a hundred thousand hearts" or as when 

— " true lovers have been ever cross'd, 
It stands as an edict in destiny.'''' — Act I. Sc. 1. 

In the style and manner of the versified part, in the 
Queen reigning " in peace and honour true," and in the 
particular mention of her " virtue," her " majesty," and her 
" policy," surpassing all " stories or fables," we are re- 
minded, at once, of the compliment to her memory in the 
" Henry VIII." ; the line ending with " everywhere" so often 
repeated in this very play of " A Midsummer Night's 
Dream," falls on the ear like the refrain of the same song ; 
and one line is almost repeated from the third part of the 
" Henry VI.," — 

"Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight"; — Act V. Sc. 1. 

and another, from the " As You Like It," — 

" That every eye, which in this print looks, 
Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere ; " — Act III. Sc. 2. 

and the last line closes -with a clear ring of the true Shake- 
spearean metal. Certainly, both these oracles must have 
been delivered out of one and the same holiest vault, or 
cave, and that no other than Prospero's " full, poor cell." 

And if this piece as a whole falls far below his higher 
flights, it is at least equal, in the rhythm and swing of it, to 
these lines from the " Titus Andronicus," which have been 
cited by Mr. White as indubitably exhibiting the hand of 
Shakespeare in that early play : — 

" Tit. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; 
Koine's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, 
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no storms, 



234 FRAGMENTS. 

No voice, but silence and eternal sleep. 

In peace and honour, rest you here, my sons! " — Act III. Sc. 2. 

Or, to these, again, from the " Love's Labor 's Lost " : — 

" Bir. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, 
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 
At the first opening of the gorgeous east, 
Bows not her vassal head, and, stricken blind, 
Kisses the bare ground with obedient breast? 
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
That is not blinded by her majesty? " — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

But we have a distinct repetition of almost the same 
ideas and expression in the following lines from the 
'* Richard II. " written soon afterwards : — 

K K. Rich. We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you, your son." — Act I. Sc. 1. 

" Duch. To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

" Gaunt. This royal throne of kings, this scepter' d isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi -paradise; 
This fortress, built by Nature for herself, 
Against infection and the hand of war; 
This happy breed of men, this little world, 
This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
Against the envy of less happier lands; 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed and famous for their birth, 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
For Christian service and true chivalry, 
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: 
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, 
Dear for her reputation through the world, 
Is now leas'd out, (I die pronouncing it,) 
Like to a tenement or pelting farm." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

u 0, forbid it, God, 
That, in a Christian climate, souls refirtd. 



FRAGMENTS. 235 

Should shew so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! 

And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Is not this the same land, seat, breed of men, wits refined, 
majesty ? — and the " stories or fables " are merely partic- 
ularized in the play, with a greater amplification through- 
out ; but the tone, style, and manner are the same. And 
" the ancient fable of Atlas," says Bacon, " that stood fixed, 
and bare up the heaven from falling," was " meant of the 
poles or axletree of heaven ; so assuredly men have a desire 
to have an Atlas or axletree within, to keep them from 
fluctuation " ; and the metaphor is repeated in the play, 
thus : — 

" (Strong as the axletree 

On which heaven rides)"; — Troi. and Cr. Act I. Sc. 3. 

and in the letter to Essex, thus : — ■ 

" And this is the axletree whereupon I have turned and shall turn." 

The Masque proceeds thus : — 

" Your Majesty's sacred presence hath wrought the strangest innovation 
that ever was in the world. You have here before you Seeing-Love, a 
Prince indeed, but of greater territories than all the Indies : armed after 
the Indian manner with bow and arrow, and when he is in his ordinary habit 
an Indian naked, or attired with feathers, though now for comeliness clad. 

[" Bur. If you would conjure in her you must make a circle; if conjure 
up love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can 
you blame her, then, being a maid yet ros'd over with the virgin crimson 
of modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked 
seeing self." — Henry V., Act V. Sc. 2.] 

To procure his pardon for the strategem which he hath used, — 

[ u Alack, alack ! that Heaven should practice strategems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself! " — Bom. and J., Act 111. Sc. 5.] 

and to show his thankfulness for his sight which he hath by you received, 
he presents your Majesty with all that is his ; his gift and property to be 
o.ver young ; 

[" Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
To take from thence all error with his might, 
And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight." 

Mid. N. Dr., Act 111. Sc. 2. 



236 FRAGMENTS. 

" Is there not charms, 
By which the property of youth and maidhood 
May be abused? " — Oth. Act I. Sc, 1.] 

his wisgs ofliberty to fly from, one to another; his bow and arrows to wound 
where it pleaseth you; 

[" And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind: 



Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste." — Act I. Sc. 1. 

" And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings." 

Rom. andJ., Act II. Sc. 5.] 

and withal humbly desireth that, though Philautia hath hitherto so pre- 
vailed with your Majesty, as you would never accept him while he was an 
imperfect piece, yet now he is accomplished by your Majesty's grace and 
means, that you will vouchsafe him entertainment. For all the challenge 
that ever hath been made to Love or his band, hath been, if it be rightly 
interpreted, only to his want of eyesight. 

[" Nurse. Faith, here 't is. Romeo 

Is banished ; and all the world to nothing, 
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you." 

Rom. and J"., Act III. Sc. 5.] 

Lovers are charged to aspire too high : it is as the poor dove, which when 
her eyes are sealed still mounteth up into the air. They are charged with 
descending too low ; it is as the poor mole, which seeing not the clearness 
of the air diveth into the darkness of the earth. 

[ i; Her. cross! too high to be enthrall' d to low! — ... 
spite ! too old to be engaged to young ! — ... 
Hell! to choose love by another's eyes! — ... 
Lys. The jaws of darkness do devour it up." 

. Mid. N. Dr., Act I. Sc. 1.] 

They are sometimes charged with presuming too far: it is as the blind 
man, who looketh in humanity that any seeing man should give him way. 
They are accused sometimes to be timorous : it is as the blind stalks and 
lifts high when the way is smooth. They are taxed to be credulous : why 
the blind are ever led. They are said at other times to be incredulous: the 
blind must feel that which it sufficeth another to see. How can they know 
times justly, that go by the clock and not by the sun? And how can they 
know measure, that see as well a mote as a beam. 

[" Bir. You found his mote ; the King your mote did see ; 
But I a beam do find in each of thee." 

Lome's L. Z., Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" Nor dare I chide the world- without-end hour, 
Whilst I (my sovereign ^ watch the clock for you." — Sonnet.'] 



FRAGMENTS. 237 

This makes poor lovers used as blind horses, ever going round about in a 
wheel : and this makes them ever unfortunate, for when blind love leads 
blind fortune, how can they keep out of the ditch? 

[" Thisb, ! — As truest horse, that yet would never tire. 

Pyr. If I were fair Thisby, I were only thine : — 

Quin. monstrous ! strange ! we are haunted. 
Pray, Masters ! fly, Masters ! help. [Exeunt Clowns. 

Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, 
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier: 
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, tire, at every turn." 

Mid. N. Dr., Act III. Sc. 1.] 

But now that Love hath gotten possession of his sight, there can be no 
error in policy or dignity to receive him. Xay, Philautia herself will sub- 
scribe to his admission. Then your Majesty shall first see your own inval- 
uable value, and thereby discern that the favours you vouchsafe are pure 
gifts and no exchanges. And if any be so happy as to have his affection 
accepted, yet your prerogative is such as they stand bound, and your 
Majesty is free: . . . 

[In maiden meditation, fancy-free.] 

Your Majesty shall obtain the curious window into hearts of which the 
ancients speak; thereby you shall discern protestation from fulness of heart, 
ceremonies and fashions from a habit of mind that can do no other, affect- 
ation from affection." 

[" Evans. Why it is affectations. 



But can you affection the 'oman? " — Mer. Wives, Act I. Sc. 1. 

" Bir. Studies my lady? Mistress look on me: 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye." — Love's L. L.,Act V. Sc. 2. 

" To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes." — Rich. III. Act V. Sc. 3.] 

Again he says : — 

" But contrariwise her Majesty, not liking to make windows into men s 
hearts and secret thoughts " 1 

And this same window of the ancients appears again 
thus : — 

" Let the first precept then (on which the knowledge of others turns) be 
^et down as this: that we obtain (as far as we can) that window which 

i Letter drafted for Walsingham (1590), Spedd. Let. and Life, I. 98. 



238 FRAGMENTS. 

Momus required; who, seeing in the frame of man's heart such angles and 
recesses, found fault that there was not a window to look into its mysteri- 
ous and tortuous windings." x 

It is very plain that this Masque was written to be ex- 
hibited before the Queen. These extracts will be sufficient 
for the purpose of comparison. William Shakespeare could 
never have seen this Masque. The " Midsummer Night's 
Dream," though not printed until 1600, may possibly have 
been performed on the stage before the Masque was written ; 
but it would be idle to imagine any other kind of plagiarism 
or imitation to be possible here, than that which one and 
the same full mind may unconsciously make upon itself; 
and these outcroppings of the same ideas, words, and ex- 
pressions, in compositions written at about the same time, 
are altogether too numerous, striking, palpable, and peculiar 
to admit of explanation on any supposition of the common 
usage of the time, or accidental coincidence. And since 
the u Midsummer Night's Dream " has been assigned, almost 
by general consent of the critics, to the year 1594, these 
resemblances to the Masque may be taken as some evidence 
that these fragments belong to some occasion, which was 
at least as early as 1594. 

i Trans, of the De Aug., Works (Boston), IX. 271. 



CHAPTER IV. 

MORE DIRECT PROOFS. 

" Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance ; that, -which you hear, 
you '11 swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs : . . . the majesty of the 
creature in resemblance of the mother/' — Winter's Tale. 

§ 1. THE RICHARD II. 

The statements and allusions contained in Bacon's 
" Apology " or defence against certain imputations con- 
cerning his conduct towards the Earl of Essex, which was 
addressed to the Earl of Devonshire, and published soon 
after the death of Essex in 1601, made in relation to an 
answer which he gave the Queen, towards the close of the 
year 1599, as he tells us, in " a matter which had some 
affinity " with Essex's cause, and which was a certain " sedi- 
tious prelude " then lately dedicated to the factious Earl, 
being Dr. Hayward's story of the " First Yeare of King 
Henry IV.," at which the Queen, thinking there was treason 
in it, was " mightily incensed," when interpreted by the 
light of the accompanying history and the personal relations 
of the parties, will be seen to amount to nothing less than 
a virtually implied admission out of his own mouth that 
he was himself the author of the play of Richard II. ; for it 
will be made quite certain, that this tragedy was precisely 
the "matter" alluded to, and no other. It will further 
appear to be highly probable, that the Queen herself at 
least strongly suspected, and that even the Lords of the 
Privy Council had some inkling, that such was the fact. 
If this be shown to be so, it will be equivalent of itself to 
a final settlement of the question in hand, and it will re 
quire some attention. 



240 THE RICHARD II. 

That exquisite disgrace which the Queen had been con- 
strained to put upon him, in 1595, had been comfortably 
solaced in the consideration that her Majesty did but re- 
serve and not reject him, in the princely entertainment and 
masque at Essex's house, near the close of that year, and 
in the munificent grant of Twickenham Park immediately 
following. The tragedy of Richard II. was most probably 
written after this date, and during the year 1596. There is 
no mention on record of its existence before it was entered 
and printed in 1597. Malone and some others have sup- 
posed it might have been written as early as 1593-4, and, 
proceeding upon the assumption that the mention made by 
Camden and by Bacon of the tragedy of Richard II., in 
their accounts of the trials of Essex and his co-conspirators, 
as being an " out-dated " and an " old " play, must have 
referred to some older play by another author, they were 
also led to infer, both that some such old play existed, and 
that it was that older play, and not this of Shakespeare, 
which was there alluded to. But all this is evidently a 
mistake ; for the Attorney-General, Coke, in his speech on 
the trial of Merrick, expressly says, that " forty shillings 
were given to Phillips the player" to play this tragedy 
before Essex's men. This was no other than Augustine 
Phillips of Shakespeare's company, and the manager at the 
Globe and Blackfriars ; and it is altogether improbable 
that any other play of that name would be in use by that 
company, at that time, and none such is known to have 
existed. During the year 1595, Daniel published a first 
and second edition of his " Civil Wars," a poem on the 
same subject. Mr. White observes some incidents in this 
second edition, which lead him to infer that Daniel may 
have used the play to correct his piece ; but the inference 
of Mr. Knight, that the resemblances are due to the fact 
that the writer of the play had read Daniel's poem, in the 
course of his preparations for his work, and so, that the 
play was written after the poem, would seem to be more 



THE RICHARD II. 241 

probable ; or both writers may have drawn from the same 
historical sources, independently of each other ; and this 
view would limit the production of the play to the year 
1596. In that year, Essex is burning the Spanish fleet at 
Cadiz, and the Pope issues his Bull authorizing Queen 
Elizabeth's subjects to depose her ; but it is not until about 
1598, that the Irish kernes under Tyrone and O'Neil 
begin to be troublesome, and wars arise, to which there 
might seem to be some allusion in the play, as in these 
lines : — 

" K. Rich. Xovr for our Irish wars: 

TVe must supplant these rough rug-headed kernes "; 

but there were just such rebels and wars in Ireland, in the 
time of Eichard II., and to these, as recorded in Holinshed, 
it is much more probable, if not quite certain, the allusions 
in the play were intended to refer : nor is there any ground 
on which it can safely be concluded that the play was 
written before 1596. But, in 1594, machinations were on 
foot among the Jesuits, having for their object the dethrone- 
ment of Elizabeth, and looking to Essex as in the interest 
of some successor; for, in that year, a certain book was 
dedicated to the Earl of Essex, under the sham-name of 
Doleman (a Jesuit priest) ; but Parsons. Allen, and Ingle- 
field were the true authors of it. 1 This book set up the 
title of the Infanta of Spain, and perhaps also gave en- 
couragement to some supposed right of Essex, derived from 
Thomas of Woodstock, son of Edward III. ; and the pre- 
tensions of Essex were already a subject of speculation in 
the public mind. When Essex visited Bacon, at Twicken- 
ham Park, in October 1595, and made him the gift of land 
in requital of his services, he answered by telling the story 
of the Duke of Guise, who " had turned all his estate into 
obligations," and said : " My Lord. I see I must be your 
homager and hold land of your gift ; but do you know the 

1 Camden's Ami. of Eliz. ; Kennett's Eng. II. 576. 

16 



242 THE RICHARD II. 

manner of doing homage in law ? Always it is with a 
saving of his faith to the king and his other lords ; and 
therefore, my lord, I can be no more yours than I was, and 
it must be with the ancient savings.'' There is no certain 
evidence that the play was produced long before it was 
printed, in 1597, and the appearance of such a play, on the 
stage, at this time, could not fail to attract the public atten- 
tion. Its bearing upon the incipient projects of Essex 
(though not intended so to refer) could not fail to be per- 
ceived ; and it is certain that the play received the counte- 
nance of Essex, and excited the jealousy of the Queen. 
When first printed, no name of the author appeared on the 
title-page, and the entire scene of deposing King Richard, 
containing one hundred and fifty-four lines (says Malone), 
was omitted. Malone attributes the omission to fear of the 
Queen's displeasure, no doubt correctly ; but he falls into 
the mistake of supposing that Dr. Hayward's book was the 
cause of that fear ; whereas that book was not published 
until the year 1599. Moreover, these lines would very 
probably be interdicted by the Master of the Eevels as 
censor of the press. 

In November 1595, the Queen had taken occasion to 
show to Essex a certain book (probably that of Doleman) 
in such manner as greatly to alarm him ; but somehow all 
was made fair again, with the help of a splendid entertain- 
ment and the dramatic genius of Bacon. And, in 1596, 
after the return of Essex from Cadiz, Bacon wrote him an 
urgent letter of advice " to divert her Majesty from this 
impression of a martial greatness," for the reason that there 
could not be " a more dangerous image than this repre- 
sented to any monarch living, much more to a lady, and of 
her Majesty's apprehension." In the latter part of 1597, 
^Essex's discontent about the matter of the Earl of Notting- 
ham had been appeased with the office of Earl Marshal of 
England, and in the next year, the question of sending a 
general against the Irish rebels came up. The Queen 



THE RICHARD II. 243 

wished to appoint Sir William Knollys. Essex urged Sir 
George Carew, and plainly wanted to go himself. In the 
discussion which arose he was offended, and turned his 
back on the Queen. Her Majesty marched up and boxed 
his ears. He was exceedingly wroth, laid his hand on his 
sword, and, swearing he would not have endured so much 
from Henry VIII. himself, left the presence in high dudgeon. 
This eclipse continued from July to October 1598, when 
the affair was apparently reconciled, and he received the 
chief command for Ireland, and was commissioned Lord 
Lieutenant on the 12th of March 1598-9, the Queen re- 
luctantly yielding. Whereupon, Bacon writes him a letter 
of congratulation in which he says : " That your Lordship 
is in statu quo prim, no man taketh greater gladness than 
I do ; the rather, because I assure myself that of your 
eclipses, as this has been the longest, it shall be the last. 
As the comical poet saith, Neque Mam tu satis noveras, 
neque te ilia ; hoc ubi jit, ibi -non vivitur" And in con- 
clusion, he takes care to express himself as bearing unto 
his Lordship, " after her Majesty, of all public persons the 
second duty." 1 

Her disposition towards Essex had been kindly and for- 
giving, but she was doubtful of him, and kept a watchful 
eye upon his courses. As afterwards it became evident 
enough, all his movements had reference to a scheme al- 
ready formed in his mind to depose the Queen by the help 
of the Catholic party and the Irish rebels. He goes to 
Ireland in March, 1599, and after various doubtful pro- 
ceedings and a treasonable truce with Tyrone, he suddenly 
returns to London in October following, with a select 
body of friends, without the command, and to the great 
surprise and indignation of the Queen; and, a few days 
afterwards, finds himself under arrest, and a quasi-prisoner 
in the house of the Lord-Keeper. During this year, Dr. 
Hayward's pamphlet appeared : it was nothing more than a 

1 Letters and Life by Spedding, IT. 104. 



244 THE RICHARD II. 

history of the deposing of King Richard II., says Mai one. 
It was dedicated to the Earl of Essex, without the author's 
name on the title-page ; but that of John Hayward was 
signed to the dedication. This Hayward was a Doctor of 
Civil Law, a scholar, and a distinguished historian of that 
age, who afterwards held an office in Chancery under 
Bacon. This pamphlet followed on the heels of the play, 
and it may have been suggested by the popularity of the 
play on the stage, or by the suppression of the deposing 
scene in the printed copy. According to Mr. Dixon, "it 
was a singular and mendacious tract, which, under ancient 
names and dates, gives a false and disloyal account of 
things and persons in his own age; the childless sovereign ; 
the association of defence ; the heavy burden of taxation ; 
the levy of double subsidies ; the prosecution of an Irish 
war, ending in a general discontent ; the outbreak of blood ; 
the solemn deposition and final murder of the prince." 
Bolingbroke is the hero of the tale, and the existence of a 
title to the throne superior to that of the Queen is openly 
affirmed in it. A second edition of the " Richard II." had 
been printed in 1598, under the name of Shakespeare, but 
with the obnoxious scene still omitted ; and it is not until 
1608, in the established quiet of the next reign, that the 
omitted scene is restored in print. It is plain that, during 
the reign of Elizabeth, it would have been dangerous to 
have printed it in full ; nevertheless, it had had a great run 
on the stage during these years. 

Now, Camden speaks of both the book of Hayward and 
the tragedy of Richard II. He states that, on the first in- 
formal inquiry, held at the Lord Keeper's house, in June 
1600, concerning the conduct of Essex, besides the general 
charges of disobedience and contempt, " they likewise 
charged him with some heads and articles taken out of a 
certain book, dedicated to him, about the deposing Richard 
II." This was doubtless Hayward's book. But in his ac- 
count of the trial of Merrick (commander at Essex's house), 



THE RICHARD II. 245 

he says, he was indicted also, among other things, " for 
having procured the out-dated tragedy of Richard II. to be 
publicly acted, at his own charge, for the entertainment of 
the conspirators," on the day before the attack on the 
Queen's palace. " This," he continues, " the lawyers con- 
strued as done by him, with a design to intimate that they 
were now giving the representation of a scene upon the 
stage, which was the next day to be acted in reality upon 
the person of the Queen. And the same judgment they 
passed upon a book, which had been written sometime be- 
fore, by one Hayward, a man of sense and learning, and 
dedicated to the Earl of Essex, viz.: That 'twas penned 
on purpose as a copy and an encouragement for deposing 
the Queen." He further informs us that the judges, in 
their opinion, " produced likewise several instances from 
the Chronicles of England, as of Edward II. and Richard 
II., who, being once betrayed into the hands of their sub- 
jects, were soon deposed and murdered." And when 
Southampton asked the Attorney-General, on his trial, 
what he supposed they intended to do with the Queen 
when they should have seized her, Coke replied : u The 
same that Henry of Lancaster did with Richard II., .... 
when he had once got the King in his clutches, he robbed 
him of his crown and life." This account of Camden may 
be considered the more reliable in that, as we know from 
a MSS. copy of his Annals, which (according to Mr. 
Spedding) still remains in the Cottonian Library, contain- 
ing additions and corrections in the handwriting of Bacon, 
it had certainly passed under his critical revision before it 
was printed in 1627. And this may help us to a more cer- 
tain understanding of the allusions, which Bacon himself 
makes to these same matters, in his Apology and in his ac- 
count of the trial of Merrick ; for, while in the latter he 
expressly names the tragedy of Richard II., in the former, 
as also in the Apothegms, the book of Dr. Hayward only is 
mentioned by name, while there is, at the same time, a 



246 THE RICHARD II. 

covert (yet very palpable) allusion in them both to the 
tragedy also, and to his personal connection with it. 

The lawyers as well as the judges, Bacon himself in- 
cluded, appear to have made a great handle of this matter 
of King Richard II. and the tragedy — 

" For the deposing of a rightful king." — Rich. IL, Act V. Sc. 1. 

Coke says, in his speech on the trial of Blount, " The story 
of Richard II., the act of 1 Henry IV., calling a Parlia- 
ment, putting the king in Pomfret Castle, and the king's 
death following, are dangerous precedents, and too fitting 
these indictments " ; and again, on the trial of Merrick, he 
says, "The story of Henry IV., being set forth in a play, 
there being set forth the killing of the king upon a stage ; 
the Friday before, Sir Gilly, and some others of the earl's 
train, having an humour to see a play, they must needs 
have the play of Henry IV. The players told them that 
was stale : they should get nothing by playing of that ; but 
no play else would serve ; and Sir Gilly gives forty shil- 
lings to Phillips the player to play this, besides whatever 
he could get." 1 The grave and crabbed Attorney-General, 
who had probably never visited a theatre in his life, is 
evidently more intent upon his points of law than upon 
any accuracy of names and detail in these theatrical mat- 
ters ; but, while it is clear from the whole context, that the 
play spoken of was this same tragedy of Richard IL, being 
correctly styled in other places, the passage shows how easily 
the names were confounded. Bacon makes no such mis- 
take ; for, in his speech, it is called " the play of deposing 
King Richard II." 2 And he further proceeds to cite the 
example of Richard III., " who (though he w r ere king in 
possession, and the rightful inheritors but infants) would 
never sleep quiet in his bed till they were made away ; 
much less is it to be expected that a Catilinarian knot and 
combination of rebels (who have made an insurrection 
1 Howell's State Trials, 1422-5; 1411-2. 2 Ibid. 



THE EICHARD II. 247 

without so much as the fume of a title) would ever en- 
dure that a queen, who had been their sovereign, and 
had reigned so many years in such renown and policy, 
should continue longer alive than should make in their own 
turn." Which same " knot " appears again in the play 
itself, thus : — 

" His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries." — Act III, Sc. 1. 

" Grey. A knot you are of damned bloodsuckers; " — lb. III. Sc. 3. 

and thus, again : — 

" Will you unknit 
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? " 

1 Henry IV., Act V. Sc. 1. 

Again, he continues, u This construction is no mystery or 
quiddity of law : the crown is not a garland or mere out- 
ward ornament, but consists of preeminence and power ; 
and therefore when the subject will take upon him to give 
law to the king, and to make the sovereign and command- 
ing power become subject and commanded, such subject 
layeth hold of the crown, and taketh the sword out of the 
king's hand " : — 

" K. Rich. Subjected thus, 

How can you say to me, I am a kiDg ? " 

Act If I. Sc.2. 

" Bish. What subject can give sentence on his king? 
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? 
Thieves are not judged, but they are by to hear, 
Although apparent guilt be seen in them. 
And shall the figure of God's majesty, 
His captain, steward, deputy-elect, 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years. 
Be judged by subject and inferior breath, 
And he himself not present ? 

I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by God thus boldiy for his king." 

Act IV. Sc. 1. 

" King Rich. For I have given here my soul's consent 
T' undeck the pompous body of a king: 



248 THE RICHARD II. 

Make glory base, and sovereignty a slave, 
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant." 

Act IV. Sc. 1. 

" K. Rich. Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway, 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head. 

North. My lord, in the base court, he doth attend 
To speak with you : may it please you to come down ? 

King Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaeton, 
"Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 
In the base court '? Base court, where kings grow base, 
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
In the base court ? Comedown? Down, court ! down King ! " 

Act III. Sc. 3. 

Here, we have, in Bacon, rightful inheritors, apparent 
theft, and garland or ornament ; and in the play, rightful 
king, apparent guilt, and undeck ; an identity in the use of 
words particularly to be noted, as well as the thought, 
style, and maimer. 

While Essex was yet in the custody of the Lord Keeper, 
or under arrest, between October of 1599 and the summer 
of 1600, and before his treasonable plot had come to a head, 
or to a decisive and clear breach with the Queen, Bacon, 
who had warned him against aspiring to a military great- 
ness, who was not in the secret of his scheme, and doubt- 
less believed his wayward courses were due to errors of 
judgment rather than to any disloyalty at heart, had ex- 
hausted all his wit and invention, and at last the patience 
of the Queen, in his efforts to palliate the conduct of 
Essex, to assure her of his loyalty, and to obtain for him a 
restoration to her favor ; until, at length, about the month 
of September of that year (1600), "Essex, drawing now 
towards the catastrophe/' says Bacon, " or last part of that 
tragedy, for which he came upon the stage in Ireland, his 
treasons grew to a farther ripeness," and the case became 
desperate. The Queen, remembering the " continual, in- 
cessant, and confident speeches and courses " that he had 
held, became " utterly alienated " from him, turned her 



THE RICHARD II. 249 

back upon him, and would scarcely speak to him for three 
months after, nor until he had made the most passionate 
appeal to her justice and affection, that whereas he had lost 
many friends on account of his opposition to Essex, he was 
now to lose her favor on account of his friendship and zeal 
in his behalf, and to find himself in the condition of what 
" the Frenchmen call enfans perdns." Whereupon her 
Majesty was " exceedingly moved," and willed him " to rest 
upon this, 'gratia mea sufficit] " and "a number of other 
sensible and tender words and demonstrations, such as 
more could not be " ; but, as touching Essex, " ne verhum 
quidem" not a word more. 

Meantime, this play of Eichard II. has had a great run 
upon the stage ; it has had the open countenance of Essex 
and his crew, who have been constant auditors at the Globe 
and Blackfriars ; the public mind has caught his drift and 
understood the application that was being made of it ; and 
even the groundlings have not failed to perceive its bearing 
upon Essex's disloyal schemes. Hayward's book also comes 
in, with its express dedication to Essex, its still clearer drift, 
and its more palpable treason, to add to the general agita- 
tion and " put in the people's heads boldness and faction," 
and still more to inflame the anger and excite the alarm of 
the Queen. Hayward was seized and sent straight to the 
Tower, and some months afterwards (August 4th, 1601) 1 
when Lambard, Keeper of the Records, waited upon her 
Majesty at the palace, she exclaimed ■ " I am Eichard, 
know you not that ! " And referring to Essex, she con- 
tinued : " He that will forget God will also forget his ben- 
efactors : this tragedy was played forty times in open streets 
and houses." 2 Plainly, this was the play, and not the 
book. 

Now, it was late in the year 1599, and as Bacon says, 
" about the middle of Michaelmas term," (that is, about the 

1 Dixon's Story of Lord Bacon's Life, (London, 1862), 156. 

2 Knight's Biography of Shakespeare, 411. 



250 THE RICHARD II. 

middle of November,) while Essex was under arrest at the 
Lord-Keeper's house, he himself having free access to her 
Majesty, not only as courtier but as counsel in her legal 
business, and not long after the time when her Majesty had 
dined at his lodge at Twickenham Park, when, though pro- 
fessing not to be a poet, he had prepared a sonnet u directly 
tending and alluding to draw on her Majesty's reconcile- 
ment " with Essex, that he had the interviews of which he 
speaks in this Apology and relates the anecdotes which fol- 
low. After telling this story of the Sonnet, he proceeds 
thus : — 

u But I could never prevail with her, though I am per- 
suaded she saw plainly whereat I levelled ; and she plainly 
had me in jealousy, that I was not hers entirely, but still 
had inward and deep respect towards my lord, more than 
stood at that time with her will and pleasure. About the 
same time, I remember an answer of mine in a matter 
which had some affinity with my lord's cause, which, though 
it grew from me, went after about in others names. For 
her Majesty being mightily incensed with that book which 
was dedicated to my Lord of Essex, being a story of the 
first year of King Henry IV., thinking it a seditious prel- 
ude to put into the people's head boldness and faction, 
said, she had an opinion that there was treason in it, and 
asked me if I could not find any places in it which might 
be drawn within case of treason : whereto T answered : For 
treason, surely I found none ; but for felony, very many. 
And when her Majesty hastily asked me, Wherein ? I told 
her the author had committed very apparent theft ; for he 
had taken most of the sentences of Cornelius Tacitus, and 
translated them into English, and put them into his text." 

In this Apology, Bacon is vindicating himself from unjust 
aspersions touching his conduct towards Essex, and he is 
giving here an account of his intercessions with the Queen 
in his behalf; and this anecdote, as well as that which fol- 
lows, is lugged in by way of showing his zeal for Essex, and 



THE RICHARD II. 251 

they are for the most part digressions ; and having related 
them, he returns again to the main thread of his subject. 
After distinctly stating that the Queen plainly had himself 
in jealousy, that he was not entirely hers, but still had more 
inward and deep respect towards Essex than stood with her 
will and pleasure, he introduces the anecdote as consisting 
in an answer of his in a matter which had some affinity 
with Essex's cause, which answer grew from himself, and 
went after about in others' names. He then turns upon 
Dr. Hayward's book as the thing which had mightily in- 
censed her Majesty ; but that was not the only "matter" 
1 e had in mind. That book went only in the name of Hay- 
ward himself: his name was signed to the dedication of it; 
he was sent to the Tower for it ; he confessed himself the 
author of it. in an apologetical letter ; it was attributed to 
no one else ; and there is no reason to doubt that he was 
the author of it. nor that the fact was well known both to 
Bacon and the Queen. Nor is it to be imagined that 
Bacon himself could have been suspected of having written 
such a book at that time or any other. But considering the 
character of that book, its near affinity with the tragedy of 
Richard II. as well as with Essex's cause, and the per- 
sonal relations of Essex, Bacon, and the Queen, it becomes 
highly probable, if not quite certain, that in thus bringing 
up this matter against Bacon's intercession, with the sug- 
gestion that there was treason in it. she either knew, or 
strongly suspected, that Bacon himself was the author of 
that play, and meant to throw it up at him in this manner. 
Bacon sees her drift, and endeavors to parry the blow with 
a jest. This is further manifest in the allusion to the theft 
upon Tacitus. The play, as we have seen, was as notorious 
in this same connection as Dr. Hayward's book ; but being 
a mere historical drama, written without any reference to 
Essex's treason, though perverted to his uses, it could not 
so well be laid hold of. The play did grow from him, and 
went about afterwards in others' names : Havward's book 



252 THE RICHARD H. 

never went in any other name but his own. Bacon himself 

also tells us, in this same tract, that " in the heat of all the 

ill news from Ireland " and the agitations going on, while 

the Council were in session concerning Essex, in November, 

1599, " there did fly about in London streets and theatres 

divers seditious libels, and Paul's and ordinaries were full 

of bold and factious discourses," to the Earl's disadvantage ; 

and yet the Queen, in her clemency, only " thought herself 

of a mean to right her own honor, and yet spare the Earl's 

ruin." The theatre is thus distinctly brought in for a share 

in the business. 

So capital a joke did this piece of wit appear to Bacon, 

that he could not spare to record it among his Apothegms, 

thus : — 

" 58. The book of deposing King Richard the Second, and the coming in 
of Henry the Fourth, supposed to be written by Dr. Hay-ward, who was 
committed to the Tower for it, had much incensed Queen Elizabeth; and 
she asked Mr. Bacon, being of her learned counsel, Whether there was any 
treason contained in it? Mr. Bacon intending to do him a pleasure, and to 
take off the Queen's bitterness with a merry conceit, answered, ' No Madam, 
for treason I cannot deliver an opinion that there is any, but very much 
felony.' The Queen apprehending it gladly, asked, How? and Wherein? 
Mr. Bacon answered, " Because he had stolen many of his sentences and 
conceits out of Cornelius Tacitus." 

The designation here given to the book comes much 
nearer to a correct naming of the play than it does to the 
title of Dr. Hay ward's pamphlet, and the suggestion that 
the Doctor was committed to the Tower for only being sup- 
posed to be the author, and that he, in his answer, intended 
to do the Doctor a pleasure, looks very much like an 
attempt at a cover, and is, to say the least, a little curious 
in itself. That Dr. Hayward had translated out of Tacitus 
was, of course, a mere pretence ; but that the play drew 
largely upon the " sentences and conceits of Cornelius 
Tacitus," will be shown to be quite certain. 

This was not the end of the matter : it came up again 
upon a similar occasion, not long afterwards, for the Apol- 
ogy proceeds thus : — 



THE RICHARD II. 253 

" And another time, when the Queen could not be persuaded that it was 
nis writing whose name was to it, but that it had some more mischievous 
author; and said with great indignation, That she would have him racked 
to produce his author: I replied; ' Xay, Madam, he is a doctor; never rack 
his person, but rack his style; let him have pen, ink. and paper, and help 
of books, and be enjoined to continue the story where it breaketh off, and I 
will undertake, by collating the styles, to judge whether he were the author 
or no." 

Now, why this question of the authorship of Dr. Hay- 
ward's book, when it was published under his own name, 
and he was confessedly and notoriously the writer of it? 
But of the author of this tragedy, though printed with the 
name of William Shakespeare on the title-page, there 
might have been more room for question ; and the racking 
of his person to produce his author might have been more 
suggestive to the wit of ,4 Mr. Bacon " than he was willing 
more openly to confess. The Queen suspected that this 
matter which grew from him, but went after about in others' 
names, here supposed to be Dr. Hayward's book (it not 
being his intention to state more expressly what that " mat- 
ter " was), had some more mischievous author than even Dr. 
Hayward ; and who, then, was it ? certainly, not Essex, to 
whom it was dedicated, for she doubtless knew very well 
that he had employed the pen of Francis Bacon in all 
lengthy papers which he had had occasion to write ; and 
perhaps she thought, or intended to insinuate, if not that it 
came from the same source as the play itself, at least that 
it was countenanced by a patronage equally mischievous as 
that which had encouraged the play ; and this threat, that 
she would have the ostensible writer racked to produce 
the real author, looks very much like a home thrust at 
Bacon himself. Again, he averts the blow with a jest ; and 
a very curious jest it was. It will be remembered that the 
play had been printed in 1598 under the name of William 
Shakespeare, and that the story of it, the history of the 
Wars of the Roses, had already been continued in the 
first and second parts of the " Henry IV." (the deposition 
of Richard and the usurpation of Henry occurring in the 



254 THE RICHARD II. 

middle of the play of Richard II.) and in the " Henry 
V.," which last must have been then (in 1599) actually in 
hand, or but lately finished ; for the following lines of the 
fifth chorus would seem to have been written before the 
return of Essex from Ireland, in September of that year : — 

" Chor. As by a lower but loving likelihood, 
Were now the General of our gracious Empress 
(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming, 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
How many would the peaceful city quit 
To welcome him." — Act V. Chorus. 

And the dancer in the epilogue to the second part of the 
" Henry IV." is made to say, " our humble author will con- 
tinue the story, with Sir John in it, and make you merry 
with the fair Katherine of France " ; and in the concluding 
chorus of the " Henry V.," the writer addresses himself to 
the audience in these words : — 

"Chor. Thus far, with rough and all unable pen, 
Our bending author hath pursued the story"; — 

that is to say, the story of the Wars of the Roses, which 
began with the " Richard II." — 

" Containing the deposing of a king." 

In like manner, the Prince Hal of the " Henry IV." is pre- 
dicted in the " Richard II.," in the " unthrifty son " of 
Bolingbroke, thus : — 

" Bol. Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For these, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
With unrestrained loose companions ; 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
While he, young wanton and effeminate boy, 
Takes on the point of honour, to support 
So dissolute a crew." — Act V. Sc. 3. 

But in these subsequent pieces, instead of the aspiring 
Henry Bolingbroke usurping a throne, deposing an anointed 
king, cherishing rebellion, putting in the people's head 
boldness and faction, and furnishing a dangerous example, 



THE RICHARD II. 255 

" too fitting " to these times, of a tragedy which may be 
transferred from the stage to the state, we have now the 
facetious Sir John only treasonably corrupting the true 
prince ; and at length the " fat knight " and his author 
have so grown into favor with the offended Queen, that, as 
the traditions say, she had herself commanded the story to 
be continued in another piece ; which was done in this 
same year 1599-1600, in the " Merry Wives of Windsor." 
And if this tradition can be relied on, it mav give still 
further point to the wit of Bacon's answer. This sugges- 
tion, that the reputed author should be required to continue 
the story, and that he would himself undertake to judge, 
by collating the styles, whether he were the author or no, 
may possibly be understood to apply to Dr. Hay ward's his- 
tory ; but it would thereby lose the best part of the wit : 
certainly no one was better prepared than himself to judge, 
by the styles, of the identity of the authorship, if it were 
the play which he had in his mind. And upon this- hint, 
we also may undertake to judge, by collating the styles, 
whether or no he were the author of these plays. 

Nor was this all. But when the informal inquiry came 
on, before the Lords Commissioners, in the summer of 1600, 
Bacon, in a letter to the Queen, desired to be spared from 
taking any part in it as Queen's Counsel, out of consider- 
ation of his personal obligations to his former patron and 
friend. But the Queen would listen to no excuse, and his 
request was peremptorily refused. It will be borne in mind 
that the Queen's object in this inquiry was, to vindicate her 
own course and the honor of the crown, without subjecting 
Essex to the dangers of a formal trial for high treason, and 
that her intention then was to check and reprove him. but 
nor to ruin his fortunes. Bacon made up his mind at once 
to meet the issue thus intentionally forced upon him, and 
he resolved to show to her, as he says, that he " knew the 
degrees of duties " ; that he could discharge the highest 
duty of the subject to the sovereign, against aL obligations 



256 THE RICHARD II. 

of private friendship towards an erring friend ; wherein, 
says Fuller, very justly, " he was not the worse friend for 
being the better subject " ; n and that if he must renounce 
either, it should be Essex, rather than the Queen, who had 
been, on the whole, personally, perhaps, the better friend 
of the two to him : — well knowing, doubtless, that conduct 
is oftentimes explained equally well by the basest as by the 
loftiest motives, and that the latter are generally the most 
difficult of appreciation. The next thing he heard was, that 
the Lords, in making distribution of the parts, had assigned 
to him, " by the conclusion binding upon the Queen's 
pleasure directly, nolens volens" that part of the charges 
which related to this same u seditious prelude " ; at which 
he was very much annoyed. And they determined, he says, 
" that I should set forth some undutiful carriage of my lord, 
in giving occasion and countenance to a seditious pamphlet, 
as it was termed, which was dedicated unto him, which was 
the book before-mentioned of King Henry IV. Where- 
upon I replied to that allotment, and said to their Lordships, 
that it was an old matter, and had no manner of coherence 
with the rest of the charge, being matters of Ireland, and 
thereupon that I having been wronged by bruits before, 
this would expose me to them more ; and it would be said 
I gave in evidence mine own tales." What bruits ? What 
tales ? The Lords, evidently relishing the joke, insisted that 
this part was fittest for him, as " all the rest was matter of 
charge and accusation," but this only u matter of caveat 
and admonition : " wherewith he was but " little satisfied," 
as he adds, " because I knew well a man were better to 
be charged with some faults, than admonished of some 
others." Evidently, here was an admonition which he did 
not like, and it is plain that he took it as personal to him- 
self. Nevertheless he did actually swallow this pill ; for 
we learn from other history that on the hearing before the 
Lords Commissioners " the second part of Master Bacon's 
i Worthies of England, II. 422. 



THE RICHARD II. 257 

Accusation was, that a certain dangerous seditious pamphlet 
was of late put forth into print concerning the first year of 
the reign of Henry the Fourth, but indeed the end of 
Richard the Second, and that my lord of Essex, who thought 
fit to be patron of that book, after the book had been out a 
week, wrote a cold formal letter to my lord of Canterbury 
to call it in again, knowing belike that forbidden things are 
most sought after." 1 

As to what these " bruits " were, some light may be 
gained from certain letters 2 which were written about the 
month of December 1599. Bacon himself informs us in 
the Apology that he had several times dissuaded the Queen 
from taking proceedings in the Star Chamber against 
Essex, in consequence of which her Majesty's " face and 
manner" had not been "so clear and open" to him as 
before, and when he happened one day to be absent from 
the Star Chamber, there was if a deep silence " from her to 
him ; and, it seems, he addresses a letter to her, in which 
he entreated her Majesty " not to impute his absence to 
any weakness of mind or unworthiness," and complains that 
all the world was against him, and that his " life had been 
threatened and his name libelled." He also writes letters 
to Lord Howard and Sir Robert Cecil, in which he defends 
himself against certain false aspersions touching his con- 
duct towards Essex, and says, " There is shaped a tale in 
London's forge," that he had delivered opinion to the Queen 
that Essex's cause came within case of prcemunire and high 
treason ; and he denounces these reports as " libels and 
lies," having their " root in some light-headed envy at his 
accesses," and suggests that " these courses and bruits hurt 
Essex more than all." No doubt these were the " bruits," 
which had been raised against him before ; but there is 
nowhere allusion to any tales, of which it could be said he 
gave in evidence his own, unless it were this same " matter." 

i Morrison's Itinerary, Works XVI. (Mont.), Note 4c. Part II. 
2 Letters and Life, by Spedding, II. 160-3. 
17 



258 THE RICHARD II. 

And so, as he had been wronged before by these bruits, 
this part, now, would expose him still more to "libels and 
lies " of the same kind, and it would also be said he gave 
in evidence his own tales ! 

Thus we see how Essex had been compelled to disclaim 
this dedication ; and Bacon was now made to swallow his 
part in that business (whatever it was) by an express con- 
clusion of the Queen's pleasure. His first objection to the 
allotment is, that this part of the charge was an " old 
matter." But this dedication was not so very old a matter, 
not older than the matters of Ireland, being scarcely a year 
old ; but the play was somewhat older, and he might very 
well urge that this tragedy had nothing to do with Essex's 
treason in Ireland, which was of later date than the play. 
There had been bruits to his prejudice before, and this 
" old matter " would expose him to them still more, and it 
would be said he gave in evidence his own tales ! As to 
these tales and this " matter" which grew from himself, he 
still preferred to go about in others' names. According to 
Mr. Tobie Matthew, it had been just so with the most pro- 
digious wit in all England, whose name was Francis Bacon, 
though known by another. And as some further proof that 
this play of Richard II. made an equal figure with Play- 
ward's book in all these troubles and in the public mind, 
and was precisely that very same " old matter," and none 
other, we may take Bacon's own construction (wherein the 
old matter becomes the old play) from his account of the 
trial of Merrick, which runs thus : — 

"The afternoon before the rebellion, Merrick, with a 
great number of /others., that afterwards were all in the 
action, had procured to be played before them the play of 
deposing King Richard the Second ; neither was it casual, 
but a play bespoken by Merrick, and not so only, but when 
it was told him by one of the players, that the play was old, 
and they should have loss in playing it, because few would 
come to see it, there was forty shillings extraordinary given 



THE RICHARD II. 259 

to play, and so, thereupon, played it was. So earnest was 
he to satisfy his eyes with the sight of that tragedy, which 
he thought soon after his lordship should bring from the 
stage to the state, but that God turned it upon their own 
heads." 1 

Again, this account of the tragedy of Richard II. may 
throw some light on the behaviour of the Queen towards 
Bacon (and Essex) in the matter of his promotion. As we 
have seen, the name of Essex had been used publicly in 
connection with the schemes of the Jesuits as early as 1594. 
Bacon was avowedly the confidential counsellor and a 
known adherent of Essex and his party. Essex's counten- 
ance of this play and of Hay ward's book had been viewed 
by her in the light of un dutiful carriage toward his sov- 
ereign ; and when an opportunity occurred, it was made a 
ground of formal accusation against him. The unfortunate 
subsidy speech may not have been the only objection to 
Bacon's advancement. He had never actually repented of 
that error, but rather justified his course ; an offence which 
might easily be pardoned and forgotten. It had been so 
far overlooked that she had continued to employ him in her 
legal business, though without a regular appointment as 
Queen's Counsel, and she had rewarded his services with 
various gifts and grants, and bestowed upon him many 
marks of her favor. But this matter of a persistent ad- 
herence to the fortunes of Essex, even in his wayward 
courses, while these machinations were abroad using his 
name and his title from Edward III. in a way that tended to 
her dethronement, being an affair of high political import 
as well as personal to herself, was neither to be counte- 
nanced nor forgotten, though it might be endured. It was 
plain to the actors themselves, in the repeated efforts made 
for his advancement, during these years, that some secret 
and inexplicable quirk had got possession of her mind : she 
held fast to the Cecils and resisted all solicitations in his 

1 Declaration of the Treason of Robert Earl of Essex, TFbrfo (Philad.) 365. 



260 THE RICHARD II. 

behalf. During her whole reign, her mind had been dis- 
turbed with anxieties about her title to the throne. The 
several successive conspiracies of Campion, Throckmorton, 
and Parry and Babington, down to the beheading of Mary 
Queen of Scots, in 1587, had been contrived and suppressed ; 
and still, in 1594, Parsons and Inglefield were at work, 
Essex, though a kinsman and favorite, was a great noble 
and the leader of a powerful party, which it was not safe to 
allow to become too powerful. Her latest days were dis- 
quieted by doubts of her own ministers ; and it need not 
appear surprising that she was unwilling to place Essex's 
confidential adviser in the line of promotion to the highest 
offices in the State, nor that an apprehension so secret and 
profound should not appear on the surface of things. So, 
when the question of the Solicitorship came up, she was 
in no haste " in determining of the place," as we learn from 
the Letters. She answered Essex that " Bacon had a great 
wit and much learning, but that in law he could show to 
the uttermost of his knowledge, and was not deep " ; and 
that had to be taken for an answer. It was not always the 
jealousy of the Cecils that stood in his way ; both Lord 
Burghley and Sir Robert Cecil now urged his suit. It was 
laid to Lord- Keeper Puckering ; but the Queen was " never 
peremptory but to my lord of Essex." When Essex was 
" passionate " for him, she was " passionate against him " ; 
and bid Essex " go to bed, if he could think of nothing 
else." She said to Essex, " she showed her mislike to the 
suit" as well as he "his affection for it"; and that "if 
there were to be a yielding, it was fitter to be " of his side. 
Did she fear that he would put in the people's head bold- 
ness and faction, with his seditious preludes ? Did she 
know that Essex was even aspiring to her crown, or, at 
least, looking to be her successor ? 

" And you that do abet him in this kind, 
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all." — Rich. II., Act II. Sc. 3. 

So, the honorable offender in the " Timon " had been known 



THE RICHARD II. 261 

— "to commit outrages, 
And cherish factions; " 

as Bacon says of M. Portius Cato, that " he had a bitter 
tongue, and loved to cherish factions." 

He writes to his brother Anthony : " This is Essex, and 
she is more angry with him than with me. . . . My conceit 
is, that I am the least part of my own matter ; ... for I 
know her Majesty's nature, that she neither careth though 
the whole surname of Bacons travelled, nor the Cecils 
neither." And he adds, " But what the secret of it is, 
ocultts aquilce non penetravit." The secret of it, or at least 
one rational explanation of it, and that not beyond the 
reach of an eagle eye, would seem to be clearly revealed 
in course of the progress of this Essex drama. In the very 
next act of it, now in 1599-1600, Essex's schemes are 
brought to a head and final issue. Bacon is forced de- 
cisively and once for all to choose between him and her : 
he cannot serve two masters. In the next act, he is com- 
pelled to prosecute his old friend and patron, no excuse 
admitted, on that particular part of the charge which related 
to those " factious and seditious preludes which had been 
flying about the streets and theatres of London," and which 
had a near affinity with Essex's cause, including that tragedy, 
which had been " played forty times in London streets and 
houses," — that very "matter" which grew from him, " and 
went after about in others' names." And in the last 
act, her Majesty's learned counsel adduces as proof of 
treason against Merrick, late " Commander over Essex's 
House," that he had specially procured the play of Richard 
II. to be enacted before Essex's men, thinking his lordship 
was about to bring that tragedy from the stage to the state, 
even at the risk of giving in evidence his own tales ! 

After this significant hint from Bacon himself, that whole 
" sentences and conceits " had been transferred from Tac- 
itus into the play, it should be expected, if this interpreta- 
tion be correct, that some traces of them would be found in 



262 THE RICHARD II. 

it; and herein we have a remarkable confirmation of the 
truth of the supposition. Tacitus was a favorite author 
with Bacon. Much of the brevity and neatness of the 
style of both Bacon and the plays may be due, in some de- 
gree, to the model of Tacitus. " Of all stories," says he, 
" I think Tacitus simply the best." And in the speech on 
the King's Messages (1609), he alludes to Tacitus's ac- 
count of Nerva and Nero, in these words : — 

" If the king's sovereignty receive diminution, or any de- 
gree of contempt, we shall be a meteor, or 'cor. 

pus imperfecta mistum,' which kind of bodies come speedily 
to confusion and dissolution. And herein it is our happi- 
ness, that we may make the same judgment of the king, 
which Tacitus made of Nerva : ' Divus Nerva ?*es olim dis- 
sociabiles ?niscuit, imperium et UbertatemJ Nerva did tem- 
per things that before were thought incompatible, or insoci- 
able, sovereignty and liberty." And again, in the Advance- 
ment : " What was the cause of Nero's fall or overthrow ? 
Apollonius answered again: Nero could tune the harp 
well ; but in government he always either wound up the 
pins too high, and strained the strings too far ; or let them 
down too low, and slackened the strings too much. 

[*' Iago. [Aside.'] ! you are well tun'd now; 
But I '11 set down the pegs that make this music." 

Oth., Act II. Sc. 1.] 

Here we see the difference between regular and able 
princes, and irregular and incapable, Nerva and Nero. The 
one tempers and mingles the sovereignty with the liberty 
of the subject wisely ; and the other doth interchange it, 
and vary it unequally and absurdly." In Tacitus we find 
these words : " Nerva Ccesar res olim dissociabiles miscuerit, 
Principatum ac Ubertatem " ; and again : " Sed imperaturus 
es hominibus, qui nee totam servitutem pati possunt, nee totam 
Ubertatem" 1 And the same ideas and imagery are clearly 
discernible in the following passages from the play : — 

l Tac. Hist. I. 16. 



THE RICHARD II. 263 

" K. Rich. For I have given here my soul's consent, 
T' undeck the pompous body of a king; 
Make glory base, and sovereignty a slave, 
Proud Majesty a subject, state a peasant." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

" Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums." 

Act I. Sc. 3. 

" North. His tongue is now a stringless instrument." 

Act II. Sc. 1. 

" Norf. And now my tongue's use is to me no more, 
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp; 
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
That knows no touch to tune the harmony." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

" K. Rich. This music mads me: let it sound no more, 
For though it have holp madmen to their wits, 
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad." 

Act V. Sc. 5. 

Wherewith the following sentences from Tacitus concern- 
ing Nero and his devotion to music and the harp (cithera), 
may also he compared : — 

" Vetus illi cum erat, curriculo quadrigarum insistere ; nee minus foedum 
studium, cithera ludicum in modum canere, cum coennret; quid Regibus 
et antiquis Ducibus tactitatum memorabat." — Tac. Ann. XIV. 14. 

" Ingreditur theatrum, cum citheras legere obtemperans." — lb. XVI. 4. 

" Postremo ipse scenam incedit, multa cura tentans citheram." — lb, 
XIV. 15. 

" Quia est Nero cithera, ita Piso tragico ornatu, canebat." — lb. XV. 39. 

In the letter of " Advice to the Earl of Rutland on his 
Travels," written for Essex in 1596, the same year with 
this play, there are some expressions which may remind 
the reader of the character of Richard, and also of certain 
lines of the play : — 

" But if there be not in nature some partner to this active strength, it 
can never be obtained by any industry; for the virtues which are proper 
unto it are liberality or magnificence, and fortitude or magnanimity; and 
some are by nature so covetous or cowardly, as it is as much in vain to seek 
to enlarge or inflame their minds as to go about to plough the rocks. 

[" And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbor's swords." 

Act I. Sc. 3.] 



264 THE RICHARD II. 

Clearness of judgment makes men liberal, for it teacheth men to esteem 
of the goods of fortune not for themselves, for so they are but jailors to them, 
but for their use, for so they are lords over them; and it makes us to know 
that it is beatius dare, quam accipere, the one being a badge of sovereignty, 

the other of subjection The observation of proportion or likeness 

between one person or one thing and another makes nothing without ex- 
ample, nor nothing new: and although example/, illustrant, non probant, 
examples may make things plain that are proved, but prove not themselves; 
yet, when circumstances agree, and proportion is kept, that which is probable 
in one case is probable in a thousand, and that which is reason once is 
reason ever" : — 

" Why should we in the compass of a pale, 
Keep law and form and due proportion, 
Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate? " 

Act III. Sc. 4. 

The judgment of Apollonius (an author much cited by 
Bacon) upon the cause of Nero's fall, " that he could tune 
the harp well," but, in government, " wound up the pins 
too high," or " let them down too low," that is, " knew 
no touch to tune the harmony," was an anecdote that had 
been impressed upon Bacon's mind ; and this imagery, de- 
rived from the tuning of instruments, and from the harp, 
as well as the ideas, must have gone by the same road into 
the play. Bacon could not have derived these stories from 
the play, and there is not the remotest probability that 
Shakespeare could have been familiar, at once, with the 
writings of Tacitus and these sayings of Apollonius ; and 
it is certain he could have borrowed nothing for this play 
from the Speech, or from the Advancement. And the 
same imagery shows itself again in the De Augment's, thus : 

" This variable and subtle composition and structure of man's body has 
made it as a musical instrument of much and exquisite workmanship, which 
is easily put out of tune. And therefore the poets did well to conjoin music 
and medicine in Apollo; because the genius of both these arts is almost the 
same; for the office of the physician is but to know how to stretch and tune 
the harp of man's body, that the harmony may be without all harshness or 
discord." 1 

Again he writes : 

" And in music, I ever loved easy airs, that go full all the parts together; 
and not these strange points of accord and discord." 

1 Spedding's Tran. of the Be Aug., Works (Boston), IX., 25. 



THE RICHARD II. 265 

Compare, again, these u conceits n from Tacitus with the 
lines cited from the play, as follows : — 

"Praeter multiplices rerum humanarum casus, coelo terroque prodigia 
at fulminarum monitus et futuraruin praesagia, laeta. tristia, ambigua, man- 
ifesta. 1 .... Prodigia, .... vis fulgarum. .... sidus cometes, sanguine, 
.... vitulus cui caput in crure esset. 2 Vidisse civiurn moestos vultus. 3 
Nero, .... rumor ipso tempore, rlagrantis urbis, inesse cum domesticam 
scenam et cecinisse Trojanum excidium. 4 Finis Neronis, .... evulgato 
Imperii arcano, posse Principem alibi, quam Romae fieri." 5 

' ; Capt. 'T is thought the King is dead: Tve will not stay. 
The bay -trees in our country are all wither" d, 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the Earth, 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change: 
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap: 

These signis forerun the death or fall of Kings. 

Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, 
I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament." — Act IT. Sc. 4. 

The identity of the ideas and imagery here is so clear 
and palpable as to need no comment. Some trace may 
also be observed in these lines of the author's reading of 
Holinshed's history of Richard II.. in which it is related 
that " in this year (1399). in a manner throughout all the 
realme of England, old baie-trees withered, and afterwards, 
contrarie to all men's thinking, grew greene againe, a 
strange sight, and supposed to impart some unknown 
event " ; 6 but Holinshed makes no mention of meteors, 
the fixed stars of heaven, the pale-faced moon, prophets 
whispering fearful change, rich men looking sad, the un- 
strung viol and the harp, nor ruffians dancing and leaping: 
these come from Tacitus. 

So, also. Bacon says in the Essay of Seditions and 

Troubles : — 

"When discords, and quarrels, and factions, are carried openly and 
audaciously, it is a sign the reverence of government is lost; for the 

i Tac. Hist. I. 3. 2 Tac. Ann. XII. 47. 3 75. XV. 36. 

4 lb. XV. 39. 5 Tac. Hist. I. 4. 6 Chron. of Enn. II. 850. 



2G6 THE RICHARD II. 

motions of the greatest persons in a government ought to be as the mo- 
tions of the planets under primum mobile (according to the old opinion), 
which is that every of them is carried swiftly by the highest motion, and 
softly iu their own motion; and therefore, when great ones in their own 
particular motion move violently, and, as Tacitus expresseth it well, ' libe- 
ries quam ut iniperantium meminissentj it is a sign the orbs are out of 
frame." 

" K. Henry. Will you again unknit 

This churlish knot of all abhorred war, 
And move in that obedient orb again, 
Where } r ou did give a fair and natural light, 
And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
Of broached mischief to the unborn times? " 

lllen. IV., Act V. Sc. 1. 

It will be borne in mind that this Essay first appeared in 
the edition of 1625, and of course William Shakespeare 
could never have borrowed anything from it for these plays, 
otherwise than as they came through the mind of Bacon 
himself. This Essay, like many others of them, is full of 
quotations from Tacitus, and the ideas, imagery, and very 
language of the Essay may be distinctly recognized by a 
careful reader throughout the play. When the sentences 
and conceits are wrenched from their contexts, the resem- 
blances are less striking ; but a few instances will be suf- 
ficient to show that there is ample ground for this asser- 
tion : — 

" Libels and licentious discourses against the State, when they are frequent 
and open; and in the like sort false news often running up and down, to the 
disadvantage of the State, and hastily embraced, are among the signs of 
troubles." 

"Act III. Sc. L — Duke of YorVs Garden. 

" Queen. But stay, here come the gardeners : 

Let 's step into the shadow of these trees. — 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
They'll talk of State; for every one doth so 
Against a change. Woe is forerun with woe." 

" Shepherds of people had need to know the calendars and tempests in 
State, which are commonly greatest when things grow to equality: " — 

u Gard. Go thou, and like an executioner, 
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, 



THE RICHARD II. 2G? 

That look too lofty in our commonwealth: 
All must be even in our government. — 

I Servt. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, 
Keep law and form and due proportion, 

Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate, 
When our sea-wall' d garden, the whole land, 
Is full of weeds? " 

The talk of the gardeners then goes on about Richard's 
" disordered spring " and those " weeds," the Earl of Wilt- 
shire, Bushy, Green, that he had suffered to grow up in his 
untrimmed garden, and Bolingbroke, who had " seized the 
wasteful king," ending thus : — 

" 1 Servt. What ! think you then, the King shall be depos'd? 
Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd, 
'T is doubt, he will be." 

"For high conceits do come streaming into the imaginations of base per- 
sons; especially when they are drunk with news and talk of the people." 

History of Henry VII. 

" Queen. 0, 1 am press'd to death, through want of speaking! 

[ Com i ng foi^ward. 
Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, 
How dares thy harsh, rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? 
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
To make a second fall of cursed man? 
Why do'st thou say King Richard is depos'd? 
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
Divine his downfall ? Say, where, when, and how, 
Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings? Speak, thou wretch. " 

"Also, as Machiavel noteth, when princes that ought to be common 
parents, make themselves as a party, and lean to one side, it is as a boat 
that is overthrown by uneven weight on the one side." 

II Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I, 
To breathe these news, yet what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 

Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd: 

In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, 

And some few vanities that make him light; 

But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 

Besides himself, are all the English peers, 

And with that odds he weighs King Richard down." 

" So when any of the four pillars of government are mainly shaken, or 



Jk 



2$8 THE EICHARD II. 

weakened, (which are religion, justice, counsel, and treasure,) men had need 
to pray for fair weather: " — 

U K. Rich. Away, 

From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day." — Act III. Sc.2. 

" We '11 make foul weather with despised tears." — Act III. Sc. 3. 

"The causes and motions of seditions are innovation in religion, taxes, 
alterations of laws and customs, breaking of privileges, general oppression, 
advancement of unworthy persons, factions grown desperate: " — 

u North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne 
In him, a royal prince, and many more 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 
The King is not himself, but basely led 

By flatterers 

Boss. The Commons hath he filTd with grievous taxes, 
And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 

Wil. And daily new exactions are devis'd; 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what. 



Boss. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. 

Wil. The King's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. 

North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. 

Boss. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, 
But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke." — Act II, Sc, 1. 

u Bol. I see old Gaunt alive: O, then, my father, 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wand'ring vagabond, my rights and royalties 
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 

To upstart un thrifts? 

My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; 
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do? I am a subject, 
And challenge law: attornies are denied me, 
And therefore personally I lay claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 



Wil. Base men by his endowments are made great." 

Act II. Sc. 3. 

"Bol. If not, I '11 use the advantage of my power, 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter' d Englishmen: 
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, 
My stooping duty tenderly shall show." — Act 111. Sc. 3. 



THE RICHARD II. 269 

"And as there are certain hollow blasts of wind and secret swelling of 
ieas before a tempest, so are there in states : " — 

" This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

u Aum. How brooks your grace the air, 

After late tossing on the breaking seas? " — Act III. Sc. 2. 

" For it is true that eveiy vapour, or fume, doth not turn into a storm, so 
it is nevertheless true, that storms, though they blow over divers times, 
may come at last: " — 

"Scroop. Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears, 
So high above his limits swells the rage 
Of Bolingbroke, — " . . . Act III Sc. 2. 

11 Sal. Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest. " — Act II. Sc. 4. 

"North. But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm." — Act II. Sc. 1. 
" Hie etiam crecos instare tumultus 
Ssepe monet, fraudesque operta tumescere bella." — Essay xv. 

"Were it, that before such great things, men's hearts of a secret instinct 
of nature misgive them ; as the sea without wind sw^elleth of himself before 
a tempest." — Holinshed's History of Richard III., Vol. III., 379. 

11 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so. 
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust 
Ensuing danger ; as by proof we see 
The water swell before a boist'rous storm." 

Richard III, Act II. Sc. 3. 

" For when the authority of princes is made but an accessary to a cause, 
and that there be other bands that tie faster than the band of sovereignty, 
kings begin to be put almost out of possession: " — 

" Queen. I w r ill despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope : he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper-back of death, 
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
While false hope lingers in extremity." — Act II. Sc. 2. 

"Fits. — there is my bond of faith 

To tie thee to my strong correction." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

"Certainly, the politic and artificial nourishing and entertainment of 
hopes, and carrying men from hopes to hopes, is one of the best antidotes 
against the poison of discontents ; and it is a certain sign of a wise govern- 
ment and proceeding, when it can hold men's hearts by hopes, when it 
cannot by satisfaction; and when it can handle things in such manner as no 
3vil shall appear so peremptory but that it hath some outlet of hope: " — 



* 



270 THE RICHARD II. 

"K. Rich. What comfort have we now? 

By Heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly 
That bids me be of comfort anv more. 
Go to Flint Castle; there I '11 pine away; 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
That power I have, discharge ; and let 'em go 
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, 
For I have none." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

"To give moderate liberty for griefs and discontentments to evaporate 
(so it be without too great insolency or bravery), is a safe way. For he 
that turneth the humors back, and maketh the wound bleed inwards 
endangereth malign ulcers and pernicious imposthumations: " — 

U K. Rich. -For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
With that dear blood which it hath foster'd, 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbour's swords : " — Act I. Sc. 3. 
u Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? "-7- Act IV. Sc. 1. 

"Gaunt. And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy amaz'd pernicious enemy." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

*' This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace, 
That inward breaks, and shews no cause without 
Why the man dies." — Hamlet, Act IV. Sc. 4. 
" I understand a tit head to be one that hath greatness and reputation : " — 
" Gaunt. Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

"Nor. The purest treasure mortal times afford 
Is spotless reputation." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
"For I see sometimes the profounder -sort of wits, in handling some par- 
ticular argument, will now and then draw a bucket of water out of this well 
for their present use ; but the spring-head thereof seemeth to me not to have 
been visited." -*- Adv. of Learning, II. 

"Bol. That all the treasons for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land, 
Fetch' d from false Mowbray their first head and spring." 

Act I Sc. 1. 
"K. Rich. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 
That owes two buckets, filling one another; 
The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
Drinking my grief, whilst you mount up on high." 

Act IV. Sc. h 



THE RICHARD II. 271 

M Surely princes had need in tender matters and ticklish times to beware 
what they say, especially in these short speeches, which fly abroad like 
darts, and are thought to be shot out of their secret intentions: " — 

"K. Rich. And darts his light through every guilty hole." 

Act III. Sc. 2. 

" York. While all tongues cried, — ; God save thee, Bolingbroke ! ' 
You would have thought the very windows spake, 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage." — Act V. Sc. 2. 

" Such men in other men's calamities, are, as it were, in season, and ever 
on the loading part; not so good as the dogs that licked Lazarus 1 sores, but 
like flies that are still buzzing upon everything that is raw." — Essay, xiii. 

"K. Rich. 0, villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! " — Act 111. Sc. 2. 

These passages may be left to speak for themselves. It 
is also worthy of notice that the word instrument is much 
used by both Bacon and Shakespeare, in a metaphorical 
way, and peculiarly in the Latin sense of Tacitus ; as for 

instance, we have, in Tacitus, " mathematicos. pessi- 

mum Principalis matrimonii instrumentum" and ;> ut haberet 
instmmenta servitutis et Reges" and " sed sola instrumenta 
vitiorum " ; and in the plays, " the instruments of darkness," 
" the mortal instruments," " a serving man and instrument," 
and "that hath to instrument this lower world"; and, in 
Bacon, " the wicked instruments only of other men's malice," 
and u the actors and instruments," "the organs and instru- 
ments," " the fittest instrument to do good to the state." and 
" practised by subtile instruments to draw them on," and 
" but as a divine instrument, though a mortal man." And 
the favorite metaphor of both Bacon and the plays, derived 
from instruments of music and the tuning of instruments, 
appears in the Advancement, thus : — 

" Being at some pause looking back into that I have passed through, this 
writing seemeth to me, ' si numquam fallit imago,' as far as a man can 
judge of his own work, not much better than the noise, or sound, which 
musicians make, while they are tuning their instruments, which is nothing 
pleasant to hear, but yet is a cause why the music is sweeter afterwards: so 
have I been content to tune the instruments of the muses, tha: :".:-;.- may 
play that have better hands : " — 



272 THE RICHARD II. 

" His tongue is now a stringless instrument." — Rich. IL 
It is true, the author of this play, in the historical part, 
very closely followed the history of Holinshed ; as for one 
instance, in Holinshed, the Earl of Arundel, turning to 
Sir John Bushie, says, " not the King's faithful commons 
require this, but thou, and what thou art I know " ; and in 
the " Richard 11./' it appears thus : — 

u Norf. No Bolingbroke : if ever I were traitor, 
My name be blotted from the Book of Life, 
And I from Heaven banish' d, as from hence! 
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

So Holinshed speaks of Richard lamenting his miserable 
state, " when now it was too late : " — 

" One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on Earth." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

But the parallel ideas, expressions, and allusions in these 
writings of Bacon, as well as that particular allusion to the 
Salic law, in the Apothegms, in reference to which the 
speech in the " Henry V." is almost literally versified out 
of Holinshed, with a like allusion to the book of Num- 
bers and to the French gloss as in the Apothegms, not 
to mention many other similar instances, would seem to 
furnish pretty satisfactory evidence that Holinshed was 
transferred to the play, through the mind of Francis Bacon 
and not of William Shakespeare. Indeed, the critical 
reader, who shall diligently compare the entire play with 
the writings of Bacon and Tacitus, can scarcely fail to dis- 
cover translations and similitudes enough, not only to justify 
the expectation of traces in it of the " sentences and con- 
ceits of Cornelius Tacitus," but to convince him of the fact, 
that they passed into the play through the limbec of Bacon's 
brain. 



THE HENRY VIII. 273 

§ 2. THE HENRY VIII. 

The tragedy of Henry VIII. has been supposed by some 
critics to have been written as early as the year 1602, 
but there is no evidence concerning it, nor any certain 
trace of its existence, before it was produced in great 
splendor at the Globe Theatre, on the 30th of June, 1613, 
when the theatre took fire, during the performance, and 
was burned down. Ben Jonson appears to have taken an 
active part in bringing out the play ; and some have enter- 
tained the opinion, on internal evidence merely, that the 
prologue and the lines in compliment to King James were 
written by him and added to the old play, at this time. 
But there is no good ground for this supposition : on the 
contrary, it is far more probable that the play was entirely 
a new one, as Mr. White believes, and that the speech of 
Cranmer in praise of Elizabeth and James, as well as the 
scenes in which Anne Bullen, the mother of Elizabeth, is 
introduced in terms of high commendation, was intended 
to be a special compliment to the King. It was never 
entered, nor printed, until it appeared in the Folio of 1623. 
It is true, however, that, in the year 1602, the kingdom was 
agitated on the subject of abuses of the King's prerogative 
in the matter of taxes, and that there were loud complaints 
of oppressive exactions. The subject was debated in Par- 
liament, and a petition of grievances was sent up to the 
King by the Commons. Bacon presented ft, and made his 
speech to the King touching purveyors ; in which allusion 
is made to the fact, that similar grievances had existed in 
the reign of Henry VIII., who had made " some laws or 
law against this kind of offenders." And in this play, the 
author makes Queen Katherine present to King Henry a 
like petition of grievances. A comparison of this speech 
with the second scene of the first act will scarcely leave 
room for doubt in the mind of the critical reader, that 
both proceeded from the same pen. Observe these pas- 
sages, in particular : — 
18 



274 THE HENRY VIII. 

11 Wherein it may please your majesty to vouchsafe me leave, first, to set 
forth unto you the dutiful and respective carriage of our proceeding; next 
the substance of our petition " : — 

" Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 

That you would love yourself, and in that love 
Not unconsidered leave your honour, nor 
The dignity of your office, is the point 
Of my petition. 

K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed." 

" For there is no grievance so sensible, and so bitter unto the common 

subject, as this whereof we now speak The commissions they bring 

down are against the law, and because they know so much they will not 

show them For all these grievances are committed in your majesty's 

name." 

" Q. Kath. I am solicited not by a few, 

And those of true condition, that your subjects 

Are in great grievance. There have been commissions 

Sent down among 'em, which have flaw'd the heart 

Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, 

My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches 

Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 

Of these exactions, yet the King our master, 

Whose honour Heaven shield from soil, even he escapes not 

Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks 

The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 

In loud rebellion." 

" For instead of takers they become taxers I do set apart these 

commodities, wool, wool-fels, and leather, because the custom upon 

them is antiqua costuma:" — ["their spinners, carders, fullers, weavers." 

Holm. III. 709]. 
" Norf. Not almost appears ; 

It doth appear; for upon these taxations, 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
The many to them 'longing, have put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who," — 



K. Hen. Taxation ! 

Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal, 
You that are blamed for it alike with us, 
Know you of this taxation? " 

" Again, they use a strange and unjust exaction, in causing the subjects 
to pay poundage of their own debts, due from your majesty unto them." 

" Q. Kath These exactions, 

Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 



THE HENRY VIIL 275 

Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear them, 
The back is sacrifice to the load. . . . 

K. Hen. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it? In what kind, let 's know, 
Is this exaction?" 

" By law they ought to show their commission, and the form of commis- 
sion is by law set down." 

"For the second point, most gracious sovereign, touching the quantity 
which they take, far above that which is answered by your majesty's use; 
they are the only multipliers in the world; they have the art of multiplica- 
tion. For it is true, that there is no pound profit, which redoundeth to your 
majesty in this course, but induceth and begetteth three pounds damage 
apon your subjects, besides this discontent." 

" Q. Katk The subjects' grief 

Comes through commissions, which compel from each 

The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 

Without delay; and the pretence for this 

Is nam'd — your wars in France. This makes bold mouths: 

Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 

Allegiance in them 

K. Hen. Have you a precedent 

Of this commission ? I believe not any. 
We must not rend our subjects from our laws, 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? 
A trembling contribution ! Why, we take 
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' th' timber; 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, 
The air will drink the sap. To every county 
Where this is question' d, send our letters with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 
The force of this commission." 

"Again, they take trees, which by law they cannot do; timber trees, 
which are the beauty, countenance, and shelter of men's houses. . . . And 
if a gentleman be too hard for them, while he is at home, they will watch 
their time, when there is but a bailiff or servant remaining, and put the axe 
to the root of the tree, ere ever the master can stop it " : — 

" We set the axe to thy usurping root." — 3 Hen. VI, Act II. Sc. 2. 

This speech was delivered in 1604, and it is not impos- 
sible that William Shakespeare may have known some- 
thing about these exactions and complaints. The resem- 
blances are not those of plagiarism, or direct imitation : 
they are rather such as would naturally come from the 
same mind, on a kindred subject, in writings so different in 



276 THE HENRY VIII. 

kind, and at some distance of time apart. At the same 
time, the marks of the lawyer's hand are almost as visible 
in the play as in the speech, and the style and language 
are exceedingly alike in both. 

In like manner, a comparison of Bacon's Discourse in 
Praise of the Queen with Cranmer's speech in compliment 
to King James, in the last scene of the play, will render it 
next to certain that the speech came from the same source 
as the Discourse itself. Some sentences may be introduced, 
also, from other speeches and writings of nearly the same 
date, and also, some passages from the Sonnets, as follows : — 

"Whose imperial virtues contend with the excellences of her person; both 
virtues contend with her fortune, and both virtue and fortune contend with 
her fame. . . . The other benefits of her politic, clement, and gracious 
government towards the subjects are. without number; the state of justice 
good, . . the security of peace greater than can be described by that verse : — 

Tutus bos etinim rura perambulat: 
Nutrit rura Ceres, almaque Faustitas : 
Or that other, — 

Condit quisque diem collibus in suis. 
The opulency of the peace such as, — ... These virtues and perfections, 
with so great felicity, have made her the honour of her times, the admiration 
of the world. . . . The excellences of her person do make so sweet a won- 
der." . . . 

[" The perfection of your majesty's learning, which as a phoenix may call 
whole vollies of wits to follow you." (King James, in the Advancement)'] 

" That she hath been as a star of most fortunate influence upon the age 
Frherein she hath shined." 
[ u The ancient fable of Atlas that stood fixed." — Adv.] 

" Cran. All princely graces, 

That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
With all the virtues that attend the good, 
Shall still be doubled on her : — .... 

Good grows with her. 
In her days every man shall eat in safety 
Under his own vine what he plants; and sing 
The merry ways of peace to all his neighbours. 
God shall be truly known ; and those about her 
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when 
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 



THE HENRY VIII. 2 1 7 

Her ashes new create another heir, 

As great in admiration as herself, 

So shall she leave her blessedness to one 

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness) 

Who from the sacred ashes of her honour 

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 

And so stand fix'd" : 

[" And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood." — Sonnet xix.] 

"A prince whom we hold and behold as an excellent pattern and example 
to imitate in many her royal virtues." — Proclamation. 

" She shall be 
(But few now living can behold that goodness) 
A pattern to all princes living with her, 
And all that shall succeed." 

[" For beauty's pattern to succeeding men." — Sonnet xix.] 

"I see your majesty is a star that hath benevolent aspect and gracious 
influence upon all things that tend to a general good : — 

Astrum quo segetes gauderent frugibus, et quo 
Duceret apricis in collibus uva colorem. 

This work, which is for the bettering of men's bread and wine, which are 
the characters of temporal blessings and sacraments of eternal, I hope, by 
God's holy providence, will be ripened by Caesar's star." — Letter to King. 

"And maintain every several estate in a happy and flourishing condi- 
tion." — Proc. 

[Solomon's] " natural history of all verdure from the mountain cedar to 
the moss upon the wall." — Adv. 

"The sappy cedars tall like stately towers." — Psalm. 

"Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 
That were the servants to this chosen infant, 
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: 
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
His honour and the greatness of his name 
Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish, 
And. like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
To all the plains about him." 

[" And when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which being 
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly 
grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and 
flourish in peace and plenty." — Cymb., Act V. Sc. 4.] 

" Time is her best commander, which never brought forth such a prince. 
.... No praise of magnanimity, nor of love, nor of knowledge, can inter- 
cept her praise." 



278 THE HENRY VIII. 

[ ' Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 
But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. 



'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity 
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall find room, 
Even in the eyes of all posterity 

That wear this world out to the ending doom." — Sonnet lv.] 
" Yea, both roses, white and red, do as well flourish in her nobility as in 
her beauty." . . . 

" For the beauty and many graces of her presence," — 

" that which I did reserve for a garland of her honour," — .... 

— " as he shall never cease to wonder at such a Queen." 
[" So all their praises are but prophesies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
And for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 
For we, which now behold these present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise." — Sonnet cvi.] 
" Beauty and honour in her are so mingled." — Act II. Sc. 3. 

Further, that the author had a special intent to make 
this play acceptable to King James, is also evident in the 
studiously complimentary manner in which he speaks of 
Anne Bullen in the several passages in which she is brought 
upon the scene ; as for instance, in that of the maskers 
habited like shepherds : — 

" K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd. 0, beauty! 

'Till now I never knew thee 

. . . . My Lord Chamberlain, 

Pry'thee come hither. What fair lady 's that? 

Cham. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter, — 
The Viscount Kochford, — one of her Highness' women. 

K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweetheart, 
I were unmannerly to take you out, 
And not to kiss you." — Act I. Sc. 4. 

&nd again, thus, after he has made her his queen : 

" 2 Gent. Heaven bless thee! [Looking on the Queen. 

Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel: 
Our King has all the Indies in his arms, 
And more and richer when he strains that lady: 
I cannot blame his conscience." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 



THE HENRY VIII. 279 

The story of the maskers habited like shepherds is taken 
from Holinshed, whose account is pretty closely followed 
in the play, but with the very notable exception, that in 
Holinshed there is no allusion whatever to Anne Bullen, 
while in the play, she makes a prominent figure in the 
scene ; and in all these passages, her beauty and honor are 
the subject of particular remark, very much after the style 
of Bacon when speaking of Queen Elizabeth herself, in the 
Felicities, thus : — 

" Now to pass to the excellences of her person : the view of them wholly, 
and not severally, do make so sweet a wonder, as I fear to divide them. 
Again nobility extracted out of the royal and virtuous line of the kings of 
England; yea, both roses, white and red, do as well flourish in her nobility 
as in her beauty. . . For the beauty and many graces of her presence, what 
colours are fine enough for such a portraiture? " 

" To speak of her fortune, that which I did reserve for a garland of her 
honour; and that is, that she liveth a virgin, and hath no children: so it is 
that which maketh all her other virtues and acts more sacred, more august, 
more divine." 

" As for her memory, it hath gotten such life in the mouths and hearts of 
men, as that envy being put out by her death, and her fame lighted, I can- 
not say whether the felicity of her life, or the felicity of her memory be the 
greater." 

" Another principal thing least into Queen Elizabeth's felicity, was the 
time and period of her reign ; not only for that it was long, but because it 
fell in that season of her life, which was most active and fittest for the sway- 
ing of a sceptre, for she was fully five and twenty years old (at which age 
the civil lawfreeth from a curator) when she came to the crown, and reigned 
to the seventieth year of her life ; so that she never suffered the detriments 
of pupilage and check of an overawing power, or the inconveniences of an 
impotent and unwieldy old age ; and old age is not without a competent 
portion of miseries, even to private men; but to kings, besides the common 
burden of years, it brings for the most part a declining in the estates they 
govern, and a conclusion of their lives without honour, . . . Contrariwise, 
Queen Elizabeth's fortune was so constant and deeply rooted, that no disas- 
ter in any of her dominions accompanied her indeed declining but still able 
years." 

And very like is the tone of the conclusion of Cranmer's 

prophetic speech : — 

11 K. Henry. Thou speakest wonders. 

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
An aged princess ; many days shall see her, 
And yet no day without a deed to crown it, 



280 THE HENRY VIII. 

Would I had known no more ! but she must die, — 
She must, the saints must have her: yet a virgin, 
A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. ,, 

Act V. Sc, 4. 

Another instance may be added here of those numerous 
resemblances in thought and word, which, though not 
amounting in themselves to any absolute certainty of proof, 
yet strike the mind, as it were, like the sound of a voice 
from the world of spirits. In the History of Henry VII., 
Bacon speaks of Queen Katherine thus : — 

11 And the lad^v Katherine herself (a sad and religious woman), long after, 
whon King Henry the Eighth his resolution of a divorce from her was first 
made known to her, used some words, that she had not offended, but it was 
a judgment of God, for that her former marriage was made in blood; 
meaning that of the Earl of Warwick." 1 

And thus she is represented in the play : — 

" Q. Kath. Alas, sir, 

In what have I offended you ? . . • . 

A'. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate : 

Thou art, alone 

(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 

Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, 

Obeying in commanding, and thy parts 

Sovereign and pious else, would speak thee out,) 

The queen of earthly queens." .... Act II. Sc. 4. 

" Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles: 
Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst. Leave working." — Act III, Sc. 1, 

" A". lien. V th' progress of the business, 

Ere a determinate resolution, he 
(I mean the bishop) did require a respite; 
Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
Whether our daughter were legitimate, 
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 

Sometime our brother's wife 

First, methought, 

I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, 
If it conceived a male child by me, should 
Do no more offices of life to 't than 
The grave does to the dead; for her male issue 

1 Works (Boston), XII. 306. 



THE HENRY VIII. 281 

Or died where they were made, or shortly after 
This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought, 
This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, 
Well worthy the best heir o' th' world, should not 
Be gladded in 't by me." — Act II. Sc. 4. 

This last circumstance of the judgment of God is men- 
tioned by Holinshed ; but inasmuch as other particulars, 
and among them, the fact of Katherine being a " saint- 
like," " pious," and " sad " woman, or " a sad and religious 
woman," are not noticed in Holinshed, there is the more 
reason to infer, what the whole style and manner would 
seem fully to warrant, that it was Bacon, rather than an- 
other, who built upon that author. Neither could Shake- 
speare have had any help from the History of Henry VII., 
nor from the Felicities of Queen Elizabeth, which were not 
published until after the play appeared. 

Whether or not the appearance of this play had any 
bearing upon the expected vacancy in the Attorney-Gen- 
eral's place, is only matter of probability ; but it is certain 
that, during the preceding year, Bacon had written several 
letters to the King, plaintiyely urging that he had served 
" above a prenticehood," now " full seven years " in " one 
of the painfullest places " in the kingdom (that of Solici- 
tor), and entreating his majesty's " royal promise to suc- 
ceed," if he lived, " unto the other place." And he said, "I 
did conceive your majesty may think it rather a kind of 
dullness, or want of faith, than modesty, if I should not 
come with my pitcher to Jacob's well as others do " : like 
the fault of Cordelia, it might be deemed " a tardiness in 
nature." He went so far as to suggest, that " since God 
had brought his own years to fifty-two, it w^ere better for 
him, otherwise, then, while he had " some little reputa- 
tion in the world," to give over the course he was in, and 
"make proof to do his majesty some honor by his pen" ; 
and the boon prayed for had been granted " on the w T ord 
of a king." As the play w T as not printed until 1623, it is, 
of course, impossible to ascertain with positive certainty, 



282 THE HENRY VIII. 

whether anything, or how much, may have been added to 
it, after the date of its first appearance. Some critics have 
observed such differences in the style and versification of 
different parts of it as to raise a doubt whether it were all 
the work of the same author. But in this matter of versi- 
fication, it may be well to remember Bacon's remark, that 
" some men's behaviour is like a verse, wherein every syl- 
lable is measured ; how can a man comprehend great mat- 
ters, that breaketh his mind too much to small observa- 
tions ? " * And his remarks on verse, generally, in the De 
Augmentis, may justly claim attention in any criticism of 
the verse of Shakespeare : — 

" The ancients used hexameter for histories and eulogies; elegiac for com- 
plaints; iambic for invectives; lyric for odes and hymns. Nor have the 
modern poets been wanting in this wisdom, so far as their own languages 
are concerned. The fault has been, that some of them, out of too much 
zeal for antiquity, have tried to train the modern languages into the ancient 
measures (hexameter, elegiac, saphic. etc.); measures incompatible with the 
structures of the languages themselves, and no less offensive to the ear. In 
these things the judgment of the sense is to be preferred to the precepts of 
art, — as the poet says, — 

Coense fercula nostrse 
Mallem convivis quam placuisse cocis. 

And it is not art, but abuse of art, when, instead of perfecting nature, it 
perverts it." 

Indeed, it is not improbable, that this play received some 
considerable additions and emendations from the matured 
experience of the master's hand, after his own fall from 
power, when he had bidden farewell to all his " greatness," — 
when he had " done with such vanities " as the House of 
Lords, and had found, at last, " the blessedness of being 
little." At least, this celebrated speech of Wolsey to Crom- 
well is not to be found in Holinshed, from whose history the 
matter of the play is chiefly taken, and much of it merely 
turned into verse : it has been remarked, too, that a certain 
twang of pulpit eloquence is audible in it ; and truly 
enough, if it be understood that the preacher was this 

1 Essay, Hi. 



>■- 



THE HENRY VIII. 283 

same high priest of Nature, Justice, and Truth, on whom 
the wall had fallen, though not the greatest sinner in 
Israel, and who now confessed himself to have been " hum- 
bled as a Christian, but not dejected as a worldling " : — 

" Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 
Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: 
By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? 
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee. 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
To silence envious tongues: be just and fear not. 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
Thy God's, and Truth's: then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell ! 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr." — Act 111. Sc. 2. 

And this conclusion sounds very much like the Essay on 
Truth : — 

" Certainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind move in char- 
ity, rest in Providence, and turn upon the poles of Truth." 

At any rate, it is a most positive and indubitable fact, 
that on the fifth of September, 1621, whether he were then 
engaged upon a revision of these plays or not, he writes a 
letter to the King, from his retreat at Gorhambury, to which 
he appends a remarkable postscript, by which it appears 
that the similarity of his own case to that of the fallen 
Cardinal in the play had very forcibly come to his mind ; 
and he seems to have been struggling with his own con- 
science to avert the parallel, thus : — 

" Cardinal TVolsey said that if he had pleased God as he pleased the king 
he had not been ruined. My conscience saith no such thing; for I know 
not but in serving you, I served God in one. But it may be if I had pleased 
God, as I had pleased you, it would have been better for me." * 

The play reads thus : — 
l Letter to the King, Works (Mont.), XII. 411; Works (Philad.), m. 136. 



284 THE HENRY VIII. 

" Wol. Cromwell, Cromwell ! 

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
1 serv'd my King, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

It is barely possible, here, that Bacon may have remem- 
bered Shakespeare's play, though it had never been printed, 
or that William Shakespeare, as well as Bacon, may have 
followed the same historical account of Cardinal Wolsey, in 
Holinshed, Hall, or Stowe ; but in the brevity and peculiar 
turn of the expression, and in the use of the verb to have 
and the word but, the manner of Bacon may be distinctly 
/ recognized in the play. Again, Bacon uses the expression 
j " if he had 'pleased God as he pleased the King he had not 
i been ruined" The word ruined is not in Holinshed, but 
it appears in the preceding line of the play : — 

11 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me." 

It is evident that Holinshed had been consulted, and that 
his account had, in general, been followed in the play ; but 
it is also clear, that some other author, probably Cavendish, 
from whom all the later historians drew their materials, had 
also been consulted. Cavendish's " Life and Death of 
Thomas Woolsey," written prior to 1557, remained in MSS. 
until 1641 ; * but copies of it had been deposited in various 
libraries at Oxford, Cambridge, and London. Hall and 
Holinshed drew from the MSS., and John Stowe had bor- 
rowed a copy. The story of Anne Bullen must have been 
derived from Cavendish, or from some other copier than 
Holinshed ; but the play varies considerably from Caven- 
dish, in the scenes concerning Anne Bullen ; as for instance, 
in the scene of the maskers, Wolsey makes a mistake and 
selects Sir Edward Neville for the king, while in the play, 
he makes a good hit, and finds the king. It is certain 
that Bacon's studies for his Histories began at an early 
date, and must have made him familiar with these histo- 
rians ; and it is highly probable, if not quite certain, that he 

1 Harleian Misc., V. 123. 



THE HENRY VIII. 285 

would have an opportunity to consult one of the MSS. copies 
of Cavendish. Holinshed's statement of this saying of the 
dying Cardinal, drawn from Cavendish, is as follows : — 

" Sir, (quoth he,) I tarrie but the pleasure of God to render up my poore 
soule into his hands. I see the matter, how it is framed: but if I had served 
God as diligentlie as I have doone the King, he would not have given me 
over in my greie haires: but it is the just reward that I must receive for the 
diligent pains and studie that I have had to do him service, not regarding 
my service to God, but onlie to satisfie his pleasure." * 

The word pleased is not used, nor is anything said, in the 
play, about the king's " pleasure : " while in the letter of 
Bacon, pleased is the leading word. This shows that Bacon 
wrote rather from his remembrance of Holinshed than of 
the play. At the same time, the word served is also used 
by Bacon as in Holinshed, and it is made the leading word 
in the play, as more suitable than pleased for the few lines 
of verse which were required. And this tends strongly to 
the conclusion, that the saying passed into the play through 
the mind of Bacon. Furthermore, this word please is 
much in use, in the same manner, both in Bacon and the 
plays ; as for instance, in the Julius Caesar, thus : — 

" Cass. I know not what you mean by that ; but I am sure, Cassar fell 
down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according 
as he pleased and displeased them, as they used to do the Players in the 
theatre, I am no true man." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

And in the u Christian Paradoxes M of Bacon, we have 

this : — 

" He knoweth if he please man, he cannot be the servant ot Christ ; yetj 
for Christ's sake, he pleaseth all men in all things." 

In like manner, the story of King Henry the Sixth's 
prophecy, about young Henry Earl of Richmond, passes 
from Holinshed into the play of Henry VI., pretty certainly 
through the head of Bacon ; for, in the Essay of Proph- 
ecies, he says, " Henry the Sixth of England said of Henry 
the Seventh, when he was a lad, and gave him water, This 
is the lad that shall enjoy the crown for which we strive" 
1 Chron. of Eng. (Lond. 1808), III. 755. 



286 JULIUS (LESAR. 

And it is thus related in the play : — 

"K. Hen. My Lord of Somerset, -what youth is that, 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 

Som. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond. 
K. Hen. Come hither, England's ho t pe: if secret powers 

[Lays his hand on his head. 
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
His looks are full of peaceful majesty; 
His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, 
His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself 
Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne." 

S Hen. VI., Act IV Sc. 6. 

§ 3. JULIUS CAESAR. 

As we have seen, there is satisfactory evidence, that 

Bacon had made a special study of the life and times cf 

Julius Caesar. The play of this name was not printed until 

it appeared in the Folio, but it seems to have been written 

about the year 1607, just when Bacon was engaged upon 

his Characters of Julius and Augustus Caesar (written in 

Latin), in which allusion is made to Caesar's ambition for a 

crown, in these words of the translation : — 

" For aiming at a real power, he was content to pass by all vain pomp and 
outward shows of power throughout his whole life; till at the last, whether 
high-flown with the continual exercise of power, or corrupted with flatteries, 
he affected the ensigns of power (the style and diadem of a king), whiclf 
was the bait which wrought his overthrow." 

The Advancement contains a critical account of ths 

merits of Julius Caesar as a writer, and also this passage, 

which may be compared with the following lines of the 

play: — 

" Csesar did extremely affect the name of king; and some were set on, as 
he passed by, in popular acclamation to salute him king; whereupon finding 
the cry weak and poor, he put it off thus, in a kind of jest, as if they had 
mistaken his surname: Non rex sum, sed Goe&ar" 

The play reads thus — 

" Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him : and, being offered him, 
he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then the people fell a* 
shouting. • 



JULIUS O&SAR. 287 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Case. Why, for that too. 

Cas. They shouted thrice: what was the last cry fbr? 

Case. Why for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice? 

Case. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by thrice, ever}' time gentler -than 
the other; and at every putting by mine honest neighbors shouted. 

Cas. Who offered him the crown? 

Case. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Case. I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it : it was mere 
foolery, I did not mark it. I saw Mark Anthony offer him a crown: — yet 
'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets; — and, as I told you, 
he put it by once; but for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had 
it. Then he offered it to him again ; then he put it by again ; but, to my 
thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it 
the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the 
rabblement shouted, and clapped their chapped hands, and threw up their 
sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath, because Caesar 
refused the crown, that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swooned, and 
fell down at it 

Bru. What said he when he came unto himself? 

Case. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd 
was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 

them his throat to cut When he came to himself again, he said, 

if he had done, or said, anything amiss, he desired their worships to think 
it was his infirmity 

Cas I will this night, 

In several hands, in at his windows throw, 

As if they came from several citizens, 

Writings, all tending to the great opinion 

That Home holds of his name ; wherein obscurely 

Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

Here, it is not possible that Bacon could have followed 
Shakespeare, the Advancement being older than the play; 
but, on the other hand, it is possible, so far as the date is 
concerned, that Shakespeare may have seen the Advance- 
ment as well as Plutarch's Antony (in North's translation *), 
from which some part of the story seems to have been 
taken. But the play follows the ideas of Bacon rather 

1 Lives of Noble Grecians and Romans, translated out of French into 
English by Thomas North, Knight (dedicated to Q. Eliz. 16 Jan. 1579) 
London ed. 1631, p. 917. 



283 JULIUS CAESAR. 

than those of Plutarch, and adopts the very peculiarities 
of Bacon's expressions, wherein they differ from North's 
Plutarch ; as, for instance, in these : " he put it by with the 
bach of his hand, thus" in the play, and " he put it off thus" 
in Bacon ; " what was that last cry for ? " and "finding the 
cry weak and poor " ; " it was mere foolery " and " in a kind 
of jest" ; "he was very loath to lay his fingers off it "and 
" he put it off thus " ; while these particular expressions are 
not used in North's Plutarch. 

Again, North's Plutarch speaks of " a laurell crowne " 
having " a royal band or diademe wreathed about it, which 
in old time was the ancient marke and token of a king " ; 
in the play, it is called " a crown," or u one of these coro- 
nets," but never a diadem ; while in Bacon, it is u the style 
and diadem of a king " : whence it would seem clear that 
Bacon followed Plutarch rather than the play. 

Again, the phrase u tell us the manner of it " finds a 
repetition in this from Bacon, " the bed we call a hot bed, and 
the manner of it is this" Casca can " as well be hanged as 
tell the manner of it " ; and then, they " uttered such a deal 
of stinking breath" also not in Plutarch; which sounds 
very much like Bacon's saying of the crowd and throng 
that attended the procession when he took his seat in 
Chancery, that "there was much ado and a great deal of 
world, hell to me, or purgatory, at least." 

Indeed, the whole style and manner of the scene, and 
the thought, expression, language, and manner of the whole 
play, are so decidedly Baconian, that it is scarcely possible 
to doubt, either that the story of Plutarch passed through 
his pen into this scene, or that the play was written by 
him ; a conclusion that is especially confirmed by the purely 
classical character of the piece, and by the considera- 
tion that William Shakespeare could have had but little 
pretensions to learning and skill in that kind. But if there 
be a lingering doubt in any mind, it must certainly be re- 
moved by a comparison of these further passages from the 



JULIUS CESAR. 289 

Essay of Friendship (first printed in 1612) with the second 
act of the play : — 

" With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest, as he 
set him down in his testament for heir in remainder after his nephew. And 
this was the man that had power with him to draw him forth to his death. 
For when Caesar would have discharged the Senate, in regard of some ill 
presages, and especially a dream of Calpurnia ; this man lifted him gently 
by the arm out of his chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the 
Senate till his wife had dreamt a better dream." 

" Cas. But it is doubtful yet 

Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; 
For he is superstitious grown of late. 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies. 
It may be, these apparent prodigies, 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
And the persuasion of his augurers, 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that: If he be so resolv'd, 
I can o'ersway him. .... 

Let me work ; 

For I can give his humour the true bent; 
And I will bring him to the Capitol." — Act II. Sc. 1. 



Ccbs. The cause is in my will ; I will not come: 
That is enough to satisfy the Senate ; 
But, for ;your private satisfaction, 
Because I love you, I will let you know. 
Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, 
Which, like a fountain with a hundred spouts, 
Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. 
And these does she apply for warnings and portents, 
And evils imminent; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted: 
It was a vision, fair and fortunate. 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
Reviving blood : and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance : 
This by Calpurnia' s dream is signified. 

Cces. And this way you have well expounded it 
19 



290 THE SOOTHSAYER. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say: 
And know it now. The Senate have concluded 
To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar: 
If you shall send them word you will not come, 
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, 
1 Break up the Senate till another time, 
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams/ " 

Act II. Sc. 2. 

The Essay continues : — 

" And it seemeth his favor was so great, as Antonius in a letter which is 
recited verbatim in one of Cicero's Philippics, ealleth him venejica, witch ; 

as if he had enchanted Csesar The like or more was between 

Septimius Severus and Plautianus. For he forced his eldest son to' marry 
the daughter of Plautianus; and would often maintain Plautianus in doing 
affronts to his son: and did write also in a letter to the Senate, by these 
words : I love the man so well, as I wish he may over-live me." 

And the same thing appears in the play thus : — 

" Cas. Decius, well urg'd. I think it is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
Should outlive Caesar." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

§ 4. THE SOOTHSAYER. 

In the Natural History (Sylva Sylvarum), Bacon goes 
into some curious investigations of " the force of imagina- 
tion," and of the means whereby one mind may be affected 
by another through the imagination ; and, in ths course of 
the work, he gives some illustrations of his experiments 
"touching the emission of immateriate virtues from the 
minds and spirits of men," as in jugglers, soothsayers, 
witches, and the like. 

He begins by saying that " imagination is of three kinds : 
the first joined with belief of that which is to come " ; and 
under this head he proceeds thus : " The problem therefore 
is, whether a man constantly and strongly believing that 

such a thing shall be, it doth help anything to the 

effecting of the thing itself. And here again one must warily 
distinguish ; for it is not meant, as hath been partly said 
before, that it should help by making a man more stout, or 



THE SOOTHSAYER. 291 

more industrious, in which kind a constant belief doth 
much, but merely by a secret operation, or binding, or 

changing the spirit of another; for whatsoever a 

man imagineth doubtingly, or with fear, must needs ■ do 
hurt, if imagination hath any power at all." And of all 
this we have an exemplification in the " Julius Caesar," 
where Caesar bids the soothsayer come forward and repeat 
his warning, confronting him face to face, as if to try the 
courage and faith of the soothsayer himself in his own 
prophecy, thus : — 
"Sooth. Caesar! 

Cces. Ha! Who calls? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again ! 

[Music ceases, 

Cces. Who is it in the press that calls on me ? 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
Cry, Caesar! Speak : Caesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

Cces. What man is that ? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. 

Cces. Set him before me ; let me see his face. 

Case. Fellow, come from the throng: look upon Caesar. 

Cas. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. 

£00$. Beware the ides of March. 

Cais. He is a dreamer; let us leave him: — pass." 

Act 1. Sc. 2. 

The resemblance here might appear to be somewhat far- 
fetched, if it were not confirmed by the more direct allusion, 
and more explicit identity, afforded in the play of Antony 
and Cleopatra, in reference to this same overmastering 
spirit and another soothsayer. In the Natural History 
(not printed until after his death), he tells the story of 
Cleopatra's soothsayer, thus : — 

"940. There was an Egyptian soothsayer, that made Antonius believe 
that his genius (which otherwise was brave and confident) was, in the 
presence of Octavianus Caasar, poor and cowardly; and therefore, he ad- 
vised him to absent himself as much as he could and remove far from him. 
This soothsayer was thought to be suborned by Cleopatra, to make him 
live in Egypt, and other remote places from Rome. Howsoever, the con- 
ceit of a predominant or mastering spirit of one man over another, is 
ancient, and received still, even in vulgar opinion." 



292 THE SOOTHSAYER. 

And again, in the De Augmentis, he speaks of "those 
conceits (now become as it were popular) of the mastering 
spirit, of men unlucky and ill-omened, of the glances of 
love, envy, and the like." 

And the story reappears in the play, thus : — 

" Ant. Now, sirrah: you do wish } r ourself in Egypt? 

Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither! 

Ant. If you can, your reason ? 

Sooth. I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue : but yet hie you 
again to Egypt. 

Ant. Say to me, whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine? 

Sooth. Caesar's. 
Therefore, Antony ! stay not by his side : 
Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
Where Caesar is not; but near him, thy angel 
Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore, 
Make space enough between you. 

Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth. To none but thee; no more, but when to thee. 
If thou dost play with him at any game, 
Thou 'rt sure to lose; and, of that natural luck, 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds : thy lustre thickens, 
When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him. 
But, he away, 't is noble. 

Ant. Get thee gone." — Act II. Sc. 3. 

The " Antony and Cleopatra," first printed in the Folio, 
was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1608, and was most 
probably written not long before. Of course, Shakespeare 
could not have borrowed this story from Bacon. There is 
more in Bacon's story than is said by the soothsayer 
in the play ; and this proves that Bacon drew from some 
other source than the play. Bacon states that this sooth- 
sayer was thought to have been suborned by Cleopatra to 
make Antony live in Egypt, but this circumstance is not 
mentioned in the play. A similar story was to be found in 
North's translation of Plutarch's life of Antony, which 
S&akespeare may have seen as well as Bacon; and it is 
true that some parts of it are very closely followed in the 



THE SOOTHSAYER. 293 

play. There is little doubt that the writer had read Plu- 
tarch. But Plutarch makes the soothsayer a member of 
the household of Antony at Rome : " With Antonius there 
was a Soothsayer or Astronomer of Egypt, that could cast 
a figure, and judge of men's nativities, to tell them what 
should happen to them." * But the play, like Bacon's 
story, makes him not only an Egyptian, but one of the 
household of Cleopatra ; and in the play, he is sent by Cle- 
opatra as one of her numerous messengers from Egypt 
to Antony at Rome to induce him to return to Egypt ; and 
in this he is successful ; all which is in exact keeping with 
Bacon's statement that he was thought to be suborned by 
Cleopatra to make Antony live in Egypt ; but of this there 
is not the least hint in Plutarch. All this goes strongly to 
show, that this story, together with the ^doctrine of a pre- 
dominant or mastering spirit of one man over another, 
went into the play through the Baconian strainer ; for 
it is next to incredible, that both Bacon and Shakespeare 
should make the same variations upon the common 
original. 

Again, in this same Natural History, considering of the 
substances that produce death with least pain, he records 
his conclusions upon the poison of the asp, in these 
words : — 

" 643. The death that is most without pain, hath been noted to be upon the 
taking of the potion of hemlock; which in humanity was the form of exe- 
cution of capital offenders in Athens. The poison of the asp, that Cleopatra 
used, hath some affinity with it. The cause is, for that the torments of 
death are chiefly raised by the strife of the spirits; and these vapours 
quench the spirits by degrees; like to the death of an extreme old man. I 
conceive it is less painful than opium, because opium hath parts of heat 
mixed." 

And, that the writer of this play had the same scientific 

knowledge and the same opinions of the quality and effect 

of this poison, will be seen in these lines of the play : — 

" Cleo. Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, 
That kills and pains not ? 

1 North's Plutarch, 926. 



294 THE SOOTHSAYER. 

Clown. Truly I have him ; but I would not be the party that should 
desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal: those that do die of it, 
do seldom or never recover. 

Clco. Remember'st thou any that have died on't? 

Clo. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer 
than yesterday ; a very honest woman, but something given to lie, — as a 
woman should not do, but in the way of honesty; — how she died of the 
biting of it, what pain she felt. Truly, she makes a very good report o' the 
worm. 

Cleo. Farewell, kind Charmian; — Iras, long farewell. 

[Kisses them, la as Jails and dies. 
Have I the aspick in my lips? Dost fall? 
If thou and nature can so gently part, 
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 

Which hurts, and is desir'd 

Come, thou mortal wretch, 

[ To the asp, which she applies to her breasU 
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool, 

Be angry, and despatch 

Peace, peace! 
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
That sucks the nurse asleep ? 

Char. 0, break! 0, break! 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — 
0, Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too. — [Another asp. 

What should I stay — [Falls and dies. 

Char. In this wide world ? — So, fare thee well. — 



Guard. This is an aspick's trail ; and these fig-leaves 
Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves 
Upon the caves of Nile. 

Caes. Most probable, 

That so she died ; for her physician tells me, 
She hath pursued conclusions infinite 
Of easy ways to die.' 1 — Act V. Sc. 2. 

And there is no doubt, that she was somehow thoroughly 
instructed in natural history, and well acquainted with " the 
death that is most without pain," or as gentle " as a lover's 
pinch," and those " vapours " that " quench the spirits by 
degrees, like to the death of an extreme old man " ; nor 
that the great Magician himself had "pursued conclusions 
Infinite of easy ways to die." 



MACBETH. — VISIONS. 295 

Though the Natural History was chiefly composed dur- 
ing the last five years of his life, yet we know that he had 
been collecting materials for it for many years before ; and 
it is very probable that he was making notes on the poison- 
ous qualities of plants and animals, and on easy ways to 
die, about the same time that he was engaged ni writing 
this play, and so the asp, that Cleopatra used, is noted with 
the hemlock, and finds its way into the same section of this 
work, in connection with the same subject, " the death that 
is most without pain." This inference is still further con- 
firmed by the actual out-cropping, in rather a singular 
manner, of this same word vapour, a little above, in the 
same scene of the play, thus : — 

11 Cleo — in their thick breaths, 

Eank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
And forc'd to drink their vapour." 

Bacon, as we know, towards the close of his career, col- 
lected and digested the results of his observations and 
studies, through many years, into a scientific history of 
Life and Death ; and in such a man we may find a com- 
prehensible source of the natural science of these plays, 
without resorting to the childish and ridiculous notion that 
a born genius can see through nature at one glance. 

§ 5. MACBETH. — VISIONS. 

The tragedy of Macbeth was certainly written between 
1C05 and 1610. The first notice that we have of it is, that 
it was performed at the Globe in April 1610; and there 
are some reasons to conjecture that it was written about 
the year 1607, when Bacon was made Solicitor-General. 
It may have followed the "Antony and Cleopatra" : at any 
rate, we find in it an allusion to this same soothsayer, 
together with some further illustration of the same conceit 
of a predominant or mastering spirit of one man over an- 
other, thus ; — 



296 MACBETH. — VISIONS. 

u Macb. Our fears m Banquo 

Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature 
Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'T is much he dares; 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
To act in safety. There is none but he, 
Whose being I do fear; and under him 
My genius is rebuk'd, as, it is said, 
Mark Antony's was by Caesar." — Act III. Sc. 1. 

And in the lines immediately following these, the same 
conceit leads to a like use of this same word predominant, 
thus : — 

" Macb. Do you find 

Your patience so predominant in your nature 
That you can let this go ? " 

The same form of expression occurs again in what Bacon 
writes concerning Henry VII. and. his Queen: "But his 
aversion towards the house of York was so predominant in 
him, as it found place not only in his wars and counsels, 
but in his chamber and bed " ; and again, in this same 
History, he uses the expression, " and were predominant 
in the King's nature and mind." 

The incantation and vaticination of the witches, and the 
prophetic visions also, in this play, bear unmistakable marks 
of Bacon's inquiries into the natural history of charms and 
witches, the poisonous plants and animals connected with 
them in the popular superstitions, and the manner in which 
the imagination is operated upon by immateriate virtues. 
Speaking of his third kind of imagination, that which is 
" of things not present as if they were present," and of the 
power of it upon the spirits of men, he says : — 

" There be three means to fortify belief: the first is experience; the second 
is reason; and the third is authority; . . . for authority, it is of two kinds, 
belief in an art, and belief in a man. Therefore, if a man believes in astrol- 
ogy* • • • or believe in natural magic, and that a ring with such a stone, 
or such a piece of living creature carried, will do good, it ma}' help his 
imagination. . . . And such are, for the most part, all witches and super- 
stitious persons, whose beliefs, tied to their teachers and traditions, are no 



MACBETH. — VISIONS. 297 

whit controlled either by reason or experience. Therefore if there be any 
operation upon bodies in absence by nature, it is like to "be conveyed from 
man to man as fame is; as if a witch, by imagination, should hurt any afar 
off, it cannot be naturally; but by working upon the spirit of some that 
cometh to the witch." — Nat Hist. c. x. 

Accordingly, at the close of the first witch scene, Mac- 
beth €omes to the witches, thus : — 

" 3 Witch. A drum ! a drum ! 

Macbeth doth come." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

And at the close of the great incantation of the fourth act, 
thus : - — 

" 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
Something wicked this way comes. — 
Open locks, whoever knocks. [Enter Macbeth. 

" lie c. . . . Get you gone, 

And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me V th' morning: thither he 
Will come to know his destiny." — Act III. Sc. 5. 

And in the apparition scene immediately following, Bacon's 
ideas of the nature of prophecy are repeated almost in his 
own lanp;uao:e. The Intellectual Globe must have been 
written not far from the time when the u Macbeth " first ap- 
peared, though not published until afterwards ; and it is 
manifest that Shakespeare could have derived nothing from 
this work. In the first chapter, he defines his notions of 
the three several streams of history, poesy, and philosophy, 
and after giving his meaning of poesy as nothing else but 
" feigned history," he proceeds to distinguish history from 
prophecy in the following passage which may be compared 
with the play : — ^ 

" Wherefore we assert that history itself either consists of sacred history, 
or divine precepts and doctrines, which are, so to speak, an every day phi- 
losophy. And tli at part which seems to fall without this division, prophecy, 
is itself a species of history, with the prerogative of deity stamped upcn it 
of making all times one duration, so that the narrative may anticipate the 
fact; thus also the mode of promulgating vaticination by vision, or the 
leavenly doctrines by parables, partakes of the nature of poetry " : — 

'• War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd; 



29b MACBETH. — VISIONS. 

The which observed, a man may prophesy, 

With a near aim, of the main chance of things 

As yet not come to life, which in their seeds, 

And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 

Such things become the hatch and brood of time, 

And, by the necessary form of this, 

King Richard might create a perfect guess." 

2 Urn. IV. Act III. Sc. 1. 

And again, in the Advancement, he says : " Prophecy is 
but divine history ; which hath that prerogative over human, 
as the narration may be before the fact as well as after." 
We may note also that this word anticipate re-appears in 
the " Precursors or Anticipations of the Second Philosophy." 
And in the play, this doctrine of prophecy is introduced in 
these lines : — 

" Macb. He chid the sisters, 

When first they put the name of King upon me, 
And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, 
They hail'd him father to a line of kings. 
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 

No son of mine succeeding." — Act III. Sc. 1. 

The fourth act opens with the witches' incantation, which 
is immediately followed by the Vision of future history, with 
the prerogative of Deity stamped upon it of making all 
times one duration, thus : — 

" Act IV. Sc. 1. — A Dark Cave. 

[ Tliunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises.] 
Macb. Tell me thou unknown power, — 
1 Witch. He knows thy thought: 

Hear his speech, but say thou naught." 

The apparitions then rise in succession and deliver their 
prophetic speeches, when the play proceeds : — - 

" Macb. . . . Tell me, (if your art 

Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this kingdom? 

Witch. Seek to know no more. 

Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this, 



MACBETH. — VISIONS. 299 

And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know — 

AIL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ! 
Come like shadows, so depart. 

[Eight Kings now appear in order* 

Macb. What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? 
Another yet V — A seventh V — I '11 see no more : — 
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
Which shows me many more; and some I see, 
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry. 
Horrible sight! — Ay, now, I see, 't is true; 
For the blood-bolter' d Ban quo smiles upon me, 
And points at them for his. — What ! is this so ? " 

Macb. Time, thou anticipafst my dread exploits: 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, 
Unless the deed go with it." 

Surely, this poetry was written to illustrate this philos- 
ophy, and that, too, by one who understood, that it belonged 
to the nature of dramatic poetry to illustrate it very well ; 
for, as Sir Philip Sidney had said, tk the Poet is the Mon- 
arch of all sciences " : at bottom, the Philosopher and the 
Poet are one. 

In the tragedy of Henry VIII., there is another vision, 
in which another of this author's modes of affecting the 
imagination is exhibited and equally well illustrated. Com- 
pare the following passages : — 

u 955. The body passive and to be wrought upon, (I mean not of the 
imaginant,) is better wrought upon, as hath been partly touched, at some 
time; than others: as if you should prescribe a servant about a sick person, 
whom you have possessed, that his master shall recover, when his master -s 
fast asleep, to use such a root, or such a root. For imagination is like to 
work better upon sleeping men than men awake; as we shall show when 
we handle dreams. ... It is certain that potions, or things taken into the 
body; incenses and perfumes taken at the nostrils; and ointments of some 
parts do naturally work upon the imagination of him thattaketh them." . . 
The second is the exposition of natural dreams, which discovereth the stato 
of the body by the imaginations of the mind." — Nat. Hist. 514. 

" Act IV. Sc. 2. — Kimbolton. 
[Enter Kathertne, Dowager, sick ; led between Griffith and Patience.] 
Grif. How does your Grace ? 

Kath. 0, Griffith, sick to death: . . . 

Patience, be near me still; and set me lower: 



^ 



800 MACBETH. — VISIONS. 

I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

[Sad and solemn music. 
Grif. She is asleep: Good wench, let 's sit down quiet, 
For fear we wake her: — Softly, gentle Patience. 

The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six Personages, 
clad in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards 
on their faces ; branches of bays, or palm, in tlieir hands. They first congee 
unto her, and then dance; and at certain changes, the first two hold a spare 
garland over her head; at which the other four make reverend courtesies; 
then, the two that held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who 
observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland over her 
head. Which done, they deliver the same garland to the last two, who likewise 
observe the same order ; at which (as it were by inspiration) she makes in her 
sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to Heaven: and so in their 
dancing, they vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues. 

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all gone, 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? 

Grif. Madam, we are here. 

Kath. It is not you I call for. 

Saw ye none enter since I slept ? 

Grif. None, madam, 

Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet, whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me like the sun? 
They promis'd me eternal happiness, 
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall 
Assuredly. 

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy." 

J^ And so, ,the end turns upon dreams as in the extracts from 
Bacon. Here, as in many other instances, the similitude 
is more in the idea and matter than in the language ; and 
that similitude is just such as would be most likely to occur, 
if we suppose the author to have been engaged, at the same 
time, upon a scientific study of the same subjects. There 
should be strong resemblance without absolute identity; 
and that we have, in the sick person, attended by a servant, 
in a weak and passive state of body and somewhat exalted 
state of mind, dwelling on the celestial harmonies, the vision 



MACBETH. — VISIONS. 801 

producing the effect on the imagination by the influence of 
the garlands and dancing, perfumes taken at the nostrils, 
and the tripping performances, as carefully directed ; not 
roots, this time, but branches of bays, or palm ; the im- 
agination more easily worked upon, sleeping than awake ; 
and the conclusion, in both cases, running upon dreams 
that possess the fancy. 

It is certain that Bacon was at work upon this portion 
of the great Instauration, and kindred topics were in his 
mind, during the period in which these particular plays 
were produced. And it may be said to be true, generally, 
(what is one of the most convincing kinds of proof,) that 
the most striking parallel passages found in any prose work 
of his, the date of which can be approximately fixed, are 
more especially confined to one or two plays, which must 
have been written, and were, in fact, produced, at about the 
same time at which that particular work may have been, 
or was in fact written, though not published until some 
years afterwards, as is true in some instances. 

Still another example may be cited from the " Macbeth." 
Compare the words and topics of the following sentences,- 
which are to be found within the compass of two or three 
pages in the Natural History, touching " the secret virtue 
of sympathy and antipathy," 1 with the witches' incantation 
in the opening of the fourth act, thus : — 

" There be many things that work upon the spirits of man by secret 
sympathy and antipathy: . . . tail of a dog or cat; . . . the flesh of the 
hedge-hog is said to be a great drier " : — 

" 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath meVd. 

2 W. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 

3 W. Harpier cries, — 'T is time, 't is time." 

" The blood-stone good for bleeding at the nose, by astriction and cooling 
of the spirits. Query, if the stone taken out of the toad's head be not of the 
like virtue ; for the toad loveth shade and coolness : — for that being poison- 
ous themselves, they draw the venom to them from the spirits " : — 

1 Nat. Hist, § 964-998; Worls, (Boston), V. 149-157. 



802 MACBETH. — VISIONS. 

"1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go: 
In the poison'd entrails throw. — 
Toad, that under coldest stone, 
Days and nights hast thirty-one 
Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
Boil thou first i' th' charmed pot. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble." 

14 The writers of natural magic commend the wearing of the spoil of a 
snake; . . . The writers of natural magic do attribute much to the virtues 
that come from the parts of living creatures ; so as they be taken from them, 
the creatures remaining still alive; as if the creatures still living did infuse 
some immateriate virtue and vigour into the part severed": — 

44 2 W. Fillet of a fenny snake 
In the cauldron boil and bake: 
Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
For a charm of powerful trouble, 
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble." 

44 The trochisk of vipers, — . . . the guts or skin of a wolf, a beast of great 
edacity; — Mummy hath great force in staunching of blood; — . . . the 
white of an egg, or blood, mingled with salt water, — . . .for all life hath 
a sympathy with salt, — . . . rings of sea-horse teeth, — . . . henbane, 
hemlock. — The ointment that witches use is reported to be made of the 
fat of children digged out of their graves, — ... the moss upon the skull 
of a dead man unburied. — So to procure easy travails of women, . . . the 
toad-stone likewise helpeth." 

* 4 Pius Quintus, at the very time when that memorable victory was won 
by the Christians against the Turks, at the naval battle of Lepanto, being 
then hearing of causes in the consistory, brake off suddenly, and said to 
those about him, It is now more time we should give thanks to God for the 
great victory he has granted us against the Turks: it is true that victory 
had a sympathy with his spirit; for it was merely his work to conclude 
that league. It may be that revelation was divine: but what shall we say 
then to a number of examples amongst the Grecians and Romans ? where 
the people being in theatres at plays, have had news of victories and over- 
throws some few days before any messenger could come." — Essay, 

"3 W. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 
Witches' mummy; maw and gulf 
Of the ravin' d salt-sea shark ; 
Root of hemlock, digg'd i' th' dark; 



PARALLELISMS. 303 

Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
Sliver' d in the moonVeclipse: 
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; 
Finger of birth-strangled babe 
Ditch-deliver' d by a drab, 
Make the gruel thick and slab: 
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
For the ingredients of our cauldron. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble." 

"The heart of an ape is said to make dreams also. . . . The skin of a 
sheep devoured by a wolf moveth itching ; ... by working upon the spirit 
of some that cometh to the witch " : — 

" 2 W. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
Then the charm is firm and good. 



2 TV. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
Something wicked this way comes: — 
Open locks, whoever knocks. 

[Enter Macbeth." 

So, in the " As You Like It," we have these lines : — 

" Sweet are the uses of adversity; 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
"Wears yet a precious jewel in his head." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

And certainly, it is not possible to doubt that this charm 
was compounded, concocted, and constructed out of this 
same quarry of materials ; nor is it at all probable, if not 
quite impossible, that William Shakespeare could ever have 
had access to it. 

§ 6. PARALLELISMS. 

These parallelisms in topics and whole passages, in sub- 
ject, idea, and language, may furnish the most effective and 
satisfactory kind of proof ; for it is evidence that appeals to 
the most common standard of judgment. Higher and more 
general grounds of argument may be still more conclusive 
to minds that are able to appreciate them. Jo all such any 
further exhibition of this kind of evidence might seem to 
be superfluous ; but the demonstration must be made as 



H04 PARALLELISMS. 

ciear, perfect, and complete as possible, that every one may 
be satisfied. That this argument may have full force, all 
possibility of plagiarism, borrowing, or imitation, must be 
excluded. In the several instances which have already 
been stated, the fact has been made to appear, as it will be 
in many more, that the works of Bacon, in which the most 
evident parallelism is found, were not printed until after 
the plays in question had appeared ; and this, of course, 
excludes the possibility that Shakespeare could have drawn 
from Bacon, in these instances ; and this is enough effec- 
tually to establish the entire proposition. On the other 
hand, is it possible that Bacon may have borrowed from 
William Shakespeare ? The very question would seem to 
be next to absurd. But let us look at the matter. Francis 
Bacon had been four years at the bar, and was twenty-five 
years of age, when William Shakespeare is supposed to 
have come to London, and joined the theatre as an under- 
actor, in 1586-7, at the age of twenty-two. He was already 
a finished scholar, well stored in all the learning of the 
ancients, or of his own time, an accomplished master in 
English and Latin composition, a skilful observer and in- 
terpreter of Nature in all her departments, familiar with the 
manners of the highest society, and, in a word, well-furnished 
at all points for a beginning in this kind of writing ; and to 
suppose such a man would have any occasion to borrow 
resources of thought, art, style, manner, or diction, from an 
unlearned under-actor of the Globe Theatre, would be to 
conceive it possible for a rich man to be made richer by 
plundering a beggar. So, when, as in the story of the 
soothsayer, the story of Julius Caesar and the crown, Aris- 
totle's morals, the doctrine of witches, incantations, visions, 
prophecy, feigned history, and the immateriate virtues and 
secret sympathies and antipathies of things, in metaphysical 
ideas and scientific knowledge, in acquaintance with men 
and manners, with philosophy, history, and poetry, and in 
acquisitions of every sort, we find more in Bacon than is to 



PARALLELISMS. 305 

be found in the plays themselves, and more than William 
Shakespeare could possibly have possessed, together with 
genius, art, wit, ability, and leisure enough to make the 
necessary use of his own in the way that pleased him best, it 
becomes utterly preposterous to imagine he was a plagiarist 
or an imitator of Shakespeare. 

Again, in several instances, as in the case of the " Macbeth" 
and the "Antony and Cleopatra" as compared with the 
Natural History and the Intellectual Globe, the 44 Romeo and 
Juliet" compared with the Fables of Cupid and Nemesis, 
the " Comedy of Errors" and " Midsummer Night's Dream" 
compared with the Masques, and many others, considering 
the dates of publication and approximate times of composi- 
tion, it is plain that the author must have been engaged 
upon the corresponding works, at about the same times, with 
scarcely a possibility of plagiarism either way ; and as more 
is found in Bacon's works than in the plays where the 
resemblances are greatest, it is a necessary conclusion, not 
only that Bacon did not borrow from Shakespeare, nor 
Shakespeare from him, otherwise than as Shakespeare was 
Bacon himself, but also, that he was himself the author of 
both the poetry and the prose. 

These works appeared from time to time, almost yearly, 
during a period of twenty-five years or more ; and it would 
be idle to imagine a continuous plagiarism of one author 
upon another, or a reciprocal exchange between them, for 
such a length of time, in works of the highest order like 
these. In both writings, the mode of thinking and the 
style of composition are incorporate with the man, and 
completely sui generis. No writer of the time, neither Ben 
Jonson, nor Marlow, nor Raleigh, nor Wotton, Donne, or 
Herbert, whose poetry approaches nearest, perhaps, of any 
of that age to the Shakespearean vein, can be brought into, 
any doubtful comparison with this author. Nor are these 
similitudes any merely borrowed gems set in a meaner gold. 
And what should be finally conclusive of the whole matter 
20 



306 PARALLELISMS. 

is, the profound reflection, with which the learned writer, 
who, in fact, first made this discovery, sums up her very 
luminous and eloquent view of the subject, namely, that in 
him, we find " one, at least, furnished for that last and 
ripest proof of learning, which the drama, in the unmiracu- 
lous order of human development, must constitute ; that 
proof of it, in which philosophy returns from history, from 
its noblest fields, and from her last analysis, with the secret 
and the material of the creative synthesis, with the secret 
and material of art." * 

The following instances of striking resemblances, in par- 
ticular words and phrases, lying beyond the range of acci- 
dental coincidence, or common usage, and not elsewhere 
made the subject of special comment, have been collated, 
and will be given here in one body, by way of sample of the 
innumerable similitudes and identities that everywhere per- 
vade these works ; for we, too, " will undertake, by collating 
the styles, to judge whether he were the author or no." 



" God hath framed the mind of man as a mirrour or glass, capable of the 
image of the universal world." — Adv., II. 9. 2 

" You do carry two glasses or mirrours of State." — Sjieech, VII. 259. 

" If there be a mirrour in the world worthy to hold men's eyes, it is that 
country." — New Atlantis, II. 351. 

" Give me leave to set before you two glasses, such as certainly the like 
never met in one age; the glass of France, and the glass of England, . . . 
And my lords, I cannot let pass, but in these glasses which I speak of, . . . 
to show you two things." — Charge, II. {Phil.) 389. 

"That which I have propounded to myself is, ... to show you your 
true shape in it glass, .... .one made by the reflection of your own words 
and actions." — 'Letter to Coke, V. 403. 

— " whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, 
the mirrour up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own 
image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure." — 
Bam., Act III. Sc. 2. 

1 Delia Bacon ; Putnam's Magazine, Jan. 1856, p. 19. 

2 The references by figures alone are to Montagu's Works of Bacon, Lond., 
1825. 



PARALLELISMS. 307 

— "to make true direction of him his semblable is his mirrour." — Ham. 
" Whose wisdom was a mirrour to the wisest." — Hen. VI 11., Act 111. Sc. 8. 

— " two mirrours of his princely semblance." — Rich. 111., Act III. Sc. 1. 

"You go not, till I set you up a glass 
Wherein you may see the inmost part of you." — Earn., Act III. Sc. 4. 

" Nor feels not what he owes but by reflexion." — Tro. and Cr., Act III. 
Sc.S. 



" Good Lord, Madam, how wisely and aptly can you speak and discern of 
physic ministered to the body, and consider not that there is the like occa- 
sion of physic ministered to the mind." — Apology. 

— " the particular remedies which learning doth minister to all the dis- 
eases of the mind." — II. 82. 

"Let that be a sleeping honour awhile and cure the Queen's mind in thai 
point." — Advice to Essex. 

u Macb. Cure her of that: 

Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseased? — 

Doct. .... Therein the patient 

Must minister to himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none of it." 

Macb., Act V. Sc. 3. 



" But perhaps you will ask the question whether it be not better, — . 
Yet it is a greater dignity of mind to bear evils by fortitude and judgment, 
than by a kind of absenting and alienation of the mind from things present 
to things future, for that it is to hope. . . . For neither is there always mat- 
ter of hope, and if there be, yet if it fail but in part, it doth wholly over- 
throw the constancy and resolution of the mind;— . . . that you have out 
of a watchful and strong discourse of the mind set down the better success, 
... so that this be a work of the understanding and j udgment. . . . You 
have not dwelt upon the very muse and forethought of the good to come." 
— Med. Sac, I. 69. 

" He did now more seriously think of the world to come." — Hen. VI L 

— " Owing to the premature and forward haste of the understanding, and 
its jumping or flying to generalities." — Nov. Org., § 64. 

" And first of all it is more than time that there were an end and surcease 
made of this unmodest and deformed manner of writing, whereby matter 
of religion is handled in the style of the stage." — Church Contr., VII. 32. 

" Ham. To be, or not to be ; that is the question : — 
Whether 't is nobler in the mind — .... 
And makes us rather bear the ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of V 






808 PARALLELISMS. 

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.** 

Ham., Act III. 8c. 1. 

— " and catch, 
"With his surcease, success; but that this blow 
Wight be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
"We 'd jump the life to come. — But, in these cases, 
We still have j udgment here.'' — Macb., Act 1. Sc. 7. 



— " the advancement of unworthy persons." — Essay, XV. 

" — and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes." — .Ham., Act III. Sc. 1. 



" Cardan saith that weeping and sighing are the chief purgers of grief.'* — 
Sp. VII. 306. 

"If I could purge it of two sorts of errors, whereof the one with frivolous 
disputations, confutations, and verbosities, the other with blind experiments, 
and auricular traditions and impostures, hath committed so many spoils." 
— Letter, 1591. 

" When the times themselves are set upon waste and spoil." — XIII. 269. 

— " let 's purge this choler." — Rich. II, Act I Sc. 1. 

" The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge 
melancholy, and air himself." — Win. Tale, Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" To purge him of that humour." — Win. Tale, Act II. Sc. 3. 

" I can purge myself of many." — 1 Ben. IV., Act III. Sc. 2. 

"We shall be called purgers." — Jul. C&s., Act 11. Sc. 1. 

"Are burnt and purg'd away." — Ham., Act I. Sc. 5. 

" And make Time's spoils despised everywhere." — Sonnet c. 

" Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
'T were a perpetual spoil." — Cor., Act II. Sc. 2. 



" For this giant bestrideth the sea, and I would take and snare him by 
the foot on this side." — Duels, VI. 123. 

" Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus." —Jul. Cazs., Act 1. Sc. 2. 

"His legs bestrid the ocean." — Ant. and Geo., Act V. Sc. 2. 



" Nevertheless, since I do perceive that this cloud hangs over the House.'* 
--Speech, VI. 15. 



PARALLELISMS. 309 

4 And all the clouds that lower 1 d upon our house." — Rich. III., Act I. Sc. 1. 



— M times answerable, like waters after a tempest, full of working and 
swelling, though without extremity of storm." — II, 110. 

— " secret swelling of seas before a tempest." — Essay, XV. 

— " an unusual swelling in the state." — FeL Q. Ellz., III. 472. 

— "in such a swelling season." — Hen. VII. 

— "to such a true and swelling greatness." — Letter. 

— " adorned and swelling." — I. 269. 

" And all things answerable to this portion." — Tarn. Shrew, Act II. Sc.l. 

" Why now, blow wind; swell, billow; and swim, bark ! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard." — Jul. &zs., Act V. Sc. 1. 

— ' the swelling scene." — Ben. V., Act I. Ckor. 

— "upon the swelling tide." — K. John, Act II. Sc. 1. 

" The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms." — Tit. And., Act IV. Sc. 2. 
" The venomous malice of my swelling heart." — Tit. And., Act V. Sc. 3. 
" Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens." — 1 Hen. IV., 
Act III. Sc. 1. 

— " to the swelling act of the imperial theme." — Macb., Act I. Sc. 3. 

[A favorite word in both.] 



— " as if one should learn to weigh, or to measure, or to paint the wind." 
Adv., II. 

" That tears shall drown the wind." — Macb., Act I. Sc. 7. 

" To gild refined gold, to paint the lily." — K. John, Act IV. Sc. 2. 



"I set down reputation, because of the peremptory tides and currents it 
hath, which if they be not taken in their due time, are seldom recovered." 
— Adv.,11. 287. 

"In the third place. I set down character and reputation, the rather 
because they have certain tides and seasons, which if they be not taken in 
due time, are difficult to be recovered, it being extremely hard to restore a 
falling reputation." — De Aug. 

" There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat; 
And # we must take the current when it serves, 
Or lose our ventures." — Jul. Cces., Act IV. Sc. 3. 



810 PARALLELISMS. 

— " in the jaws of death." — New Atl, II. 333. 

"Even in the jaws of danger and of death." — K. John, Act V. Sc. 2. 



"Another cause may be, because all kind of heat dilates and extends the 

air, which produces this breeze as the sun goes forward 

Seeing progression is alwaj'S from some certain place or bound, inquire dil- 
igently, or as well as thou cans't, concerning the place of the first begin- 
ning, and, as it were, the spring of any wind For the wheeling of 

the air continues also in the night, but the heat of the sun does not, — . . . . 
Surely, such winds are tired, as it were, that can scarcely break through the 

thickness of the night air; and thence, thunders and lightnings 

and storms, with falling of broken clouds." — Nat. IJist. of Winds. 

"Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion 
Ship-wrecking storms and direful thunders break; 
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 
Discomfort swells." — Macb., Act I. Sc. 1. 



* Another precept of this knowledge is, to imitate nature." — Adv., II. 288. 

— " and be not carried away with a whirlwind or tempest of ambition." 

Ibid. 291. 
"the giddy agitation and whirlwind of argument." 

— "to the use, and, as I may term it, service of my Lord of Essex." 

II. 248. 
" We have taken the loud and vocal, and, as I may call it, streperous 
carriage." — VII. 474. 
"Hominis non est apes imitari." — Be Ira, XII. 374. 
"Imitari is nothing." — Love's Labor 's Lost, Act IV. Sc. 2. 

— " they imitated humanity so abominably, that you o'erstep 

not the modesty of nature, for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as 

I may say) whirlwind of your passion." — Ham., Act III. Sc. 2. 



— " that afterwards kindled such a fire and combustion." 

Henry VIL, III. 126. 

" As dry combustious matter is to fire." — Ven. and Adon. 
— "for kindling such a combustion in the state." 

Henry VIII., Act V. Sc. 3. 



— "transported to the mad degree of love." — Essay of Love. 

" That I essentially am not in madness, 
But mad in craft." — Ham., Act J II. Sc. 4. 

" You are transported by calamity 
Thither, where more attends you." — Cor., Act I. Sc. 1. 



PARALLELISMS. 311 

"And lastly, to discontinue altogether." — IL 132. 

— " and so either break it altogether, or defer any other delay. 1 ' 

Letter, XII. 245. 

— "let a man either avoid the occasion altogether." — II. 133. 

" 0, reform it, altogether." — Ham., Act III. Sc. 2. 

"Not altogether, sir." — Lear, Act II. Sc. 4. 

" This is not altogether fool, my lord." — Lear, Act I. Sc. 4. 

" I perceive it was not altogether your brothers evil disposition." 

Lear, Act III. Sc. 5. 



— " indisposed to actions of great peril and motion." — Bacon. 

" Enterprises of great pith and moment." — Ham., Act II. Sc. 1. 



" But when matter comes to be censured or decreed." — Wisd. of the Anc. t 
III. 94. 

— " it was perused, weighed, censured, altered, and made almost a new 
writing." — Apol., VI. 275. 

[A word in the use of the Star- Chamber, meaning to 
adjudge."] 

"Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured." — Lear, Act III. Sc. 5. 
" Censure me in your wisdom, 
And awake your senses that you may the better judge." 

Jul. Ccesar, Act III. Sc. 2. 
— " we will both our judgments join 
In censure of his seeming." — Ham., Act III. Sc. 2. 

"Hath censur'd him 
Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution." — Meas.for Meas., Act I. Sc, 5. 



" But enough of these toys." — Essay. 

"But these things are but toys." — Letter, XII. 292. 

[A word much used in both.] 
"And such like toys as these." — Richard III, Act I. Sc. 1. 
— "shall we fall foul for toys." — 2 Henry IV., Act II. Sc.±. 
"These antique fables, nor these fairy toys." 

Mid. NiyhVs Dream, Act V. Sc, 1* 



— " the recreations of my other studies." — Letter. 
— " some lease of quick revenue." — Letter to Burgh. 
"But is there no quick recreation granted? " — Play. 



312 PARALLELISMS. 

^ " There was much ado and a great deal of world ; but this matter of 
pomp, which is heaven to some men, is hell to me, or purgatory, at least." — 
Letter to Buck., 1617. 

— "I am in purgatory." — Letter. 

— "all the vain pomp and outward shows of honour." — Char, of Cces. 

u That I have much ado to know myself." — Mer. of Ven., Act L Sc. 1. 
"What a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love." — Rkh. TL\ Act I. Sc. 3. 

— " such a deal of wonder is broken out." — Win. Tale, Act V. Sc. 2. 
"For there will be a world of water shed." — 1 Hen. IV, Act III. Sc. 1. 
" I should venture purgatory for 't." — Oth., Act IV. Sc. 3. 

— " purgatory, torture, hell itself." — Bom. and Juliet, Act III. Sc. 3. 

"Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate thee." 

Iltnry VIII, Act III. Sc. 2. 



"Illuminate the eyes of our mind." — Prayer, VII. 6. 
" The sun, the eye of the world." — Ibid. 107. 

— " the eye of this kingdom." — New Ail. 

" For everything depends upon fixing the mind's eye steadily." 

Intr. to Nov. Org, 

— " mine eye is my mind." — Sonnet. 

" In my mind's eye, Horatio." — Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2. 



" This is the only justification which I will use." — Subm. XVI. 352. 

"I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver, 

This only is the witchcraft I have used." — Othello, Act I. Sc. 3. 



"The states of Italy, thev be like little quillets of freehold." 

Dis. ofEliz.,VU. 163. 

" That it was no mystery or quiddity of the common law." 

Arraign., VI. 359. 

" This construction is no mystery or quiddity of law." — Speech. 

" That hath been the sconce and fort of all Europe." — Dis., VII. 164. 

" Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits, 
now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer 
this rude knave to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will 
not teil him of his action of battery? " — Hamkt, Act V. Sc. 1. 



" For opening I commend beads or pieces of the roots of Carduus bene- 
dictus also " — Nat. Hist, § 963. 

" To use ale with a little enula campana, germander, Carduus, sage, &c., 
to beget a robust health." — Med. Rtm. 



PARALLELISMS. 313 

— " spodium, hartshorn, frankincense, dried bull's pistle, gum tragacanth." 

Phys. Rem. 

— " succory, liverwort, wormwood, fennel-root, hart's tongue, daffodilly, 

Indian nard, holy thistle, camomile, rue, — cordials, rosemary, rind 

of citron, amber, balm, pimpernel, cardamon, flowers of heliotrope, 

penny-royal, seed of nettle, sesamum, olibanum, civet, juniper. 

fat of deer, thyme, marigold, sweet marjoram, violets, mallows, 

fennel-seeds, &c." — Mtd. Rem. 

[The chapters of the Nat. Hist, are called " centuries""] 

"Get you some of this distill'd Cardtms 

Benedictus, it is the only thing for a qualm." 

Much Ado., Act 111. Sc. 4t. 
" Fal. You dried neat's tongue, bull's pizzle, you stockfish." 

1 Henry, Act I V. Sc. 4. 

■ — "purge thick amber and plumb-tree gum." — Bam., Act II. Sc. 2. 

— "eats conger and fennel." — 2 Henry 1 V. 

"When daffodils begin to peer." — Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 2. 

— "nettles of India." — Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc. 5. 

— "sow it with nettle-seed." — Tempest, Act I. Sc. 2. 

— " instead of oil and balm." — Troi. and Cres., Act I. 

"For you there 's rosemary and rue." — Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" There 's fennel for you, there 's rue, there 's rose- 
mary." —Hamlet, Act IV. Sc. 5. 

"And Peter Turf and Henry Pimpernel, 
And twenty more such names as these, 
Which never were, nor no man ever saw." 

Tarn. Sh. Mr. II. 
" With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers^ 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
In our sustaining corn — a century send forth." 

Lear, Act IV. Sc. 4. 

— " crow-flowers, nettles, daisies." — Henry IV, Sc. 7. 

— " sesa ! " — Lear, Act III. Sc. 4, 6. 

— " lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
The marigold that goes to bed " — 

Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" Give the word. Sweet marjoram." — Lear, Act IV. Sc. 6. 



" Whereby concealed treasures shall be brought into use by the industry 
of converted penitents, whose wretched carcases the impartial laws have, 
or shall, dedicate, as untimely feasts, to the worms of the earth, in whose 



314 PARALLELISMS. 

womb these mineral riches must ever be buried, as lost abortions, unless he 
made the active medicines to deliver them." — Phys. Rem., VII. 215. 

" Cor. — Whose bones I prize 

As the dead carcases of unburied men." — Cur., Act III. Sc. 3. 

— u Macduff was from his mother's womb 
Untimely ripp'd." — JIacb., Act V. Sc. 7. 

"Abortive be it, prodigious, and untimelv." 

Eki 111., Act 1. Sc. 2. 

— " food for worms." — 1 Hen. IV., Act V. Sc. 4. 

" a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him." 

Ham., Act 1 V. Sc. 3. 
" Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rioting hag." 

Rich. III., Act I. Sc. 3. 
" In the deep bosom of the ocean buried." 

Rich. III., Act I Sc. 1. 



" If we simply looked to the fabric of the world." — XII. 73. 

" For by this unchangeable way, my lords, have I prepared to erect the 
academical fabric of this island's Solomon's House, modelled in my New 
Atlantis." — Phys. Rems., VII. 

— " relations of harmony to the fabric and system of the universe." — 
XV. 200. 

— " the conformation and fabric of the universe." — Nov. Org., II. 47. 

— " seeing that both the matter and fabric of the world are most truly re- 
ferred to a Creator." — Wis. of the Anc. 

— " so to mingle the elements as may conserve the fabric." — Sp., VII. 
429. 

" You may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, 
As, or by oath remove, or counsel, shake 
The fabric of his folly." — Winter's Tale, Act I. Sc. 2. 

"When it stands against a falling fabric." — Cor., Act 111. Sc. 1. 

" And like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-cap'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all that it inherit, shall dissolve." — Temp., Act III. Sc. 1. 



— " to the king's infinite honour." — VII. 341. 

— "and a finite creature shall possess an infinite happiness." — Para- 
doxes, VII. 27. 

— u the infinite flight of birds." — New Ail, II. 345. 



PARALLELISMS. 315 

— " hath cost such an infinite deal of blood and treasure of our realm of 
England."— VII. 195. 

— " sweet travelling through the universal variety." 

Masque, XIII. 16. 

— " but her favour infinite." — Gent, of Ver., Act II. Sc. 1. 

— " purchased at an infinite rate." — Mer. Wives, Act II. Sc. 2. 

— " these fellows of infinite tongue." — Hen. V., Act V. Sc. 2. 

— " nor custom stale her infinite variety." 

Ant. and Cleo. Act II. Sc. 2. 

— " how infinite in faculties." — Ham., Act II. Sc 2. 
-"a fellow of infinite jest." — Ham., Act V. Sc. 1. 

— " discovery of the infinite flatteries." — 77m., Act V. Sc. 1. 

" She hath pursued conclusions infinite 

Of ea*y ways to die." — Ant. and Cleo., Act V. Sc. 2. 

"In Nature's infinite book of secrecy, 

A little I can read." — Ant. and Cleo., Act I. Sc. 2. 

" Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all 
Venice." — Mer. of Ven., Act I. Sc. 1. 



" But to our children raise it many a stage, 

That all the world to thee may glory give." — Psalm, VII. 103. 

" Or that the frame was up of earthly stage." — lb. 101. 

" While your life is nothing but a continued acting upon a stage.' 1 

Masque, XIII. 121. 
— " "While states and empires pass many periods." — lb. 116. 

" All the world 's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players: 

And one man in his time plays many parts." 

As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 7. 



" Howsoever I be frail and partake of the abuses of the times." — Letter 
to the King. 

— "for the poor abuses of the times want countenance." — 1 Hen. IV., 
Act I. Sc. 2. 



" All as the chaff, which to and fro 

Is toss'd at mercy of the wind." — Psalm, VII. 98. 

" He is often toss'd and shaken." — Psalm. 

" The word, the bread of life, they toss up and down." 

Ch. Con. VII. 56. 
" He tosseth his thoughts more easily." — Essay. 



316 PARALLELISMS. 

— "to command down the winds of malicious and seditious rumours 
wherewith men's conceits may have been tossed to and fro." — Jud. Proc. 

M Strives in his little world of man to outscorn 

The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain." — Lear, Act III. Sc. 1. 

"After late tossing on the breaking seas." — Rich. II. t Act III. Sc. 2. 

— " back do I toss their treasures." — Lear, Act V. Sc. 3. 

— " thou hadst been toss'd from wrong." — Per., Act V. Sc. 1. 

[A word much used by both.] 



— "the great storm of mighty invasion, not of preparation." — Dis. 
Eliz., VII. 161. 

— " never stained with the least note of ambition or malice." — lb. 167. 

— "with strong and mighty preparation." — 1 Hen. IV., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

— "this most dreadful preparation." — Ezn. V., Act V. Sc. 2. 

— " give dreadful note of preparation." — Hen. V., Act IV. Chor. 



— " but styed up in the schools and scholastic cells." — Nat. H., IV. 122. 

— " and here you sty me 
On this hard rock; while you do keep from me 
The rest of the island." — Temp., Act I. Sc. 2. 



— "and did pour into man the intellectual light as the top and consum- 
mation of thy workmanship. " — Prayer, VII. 9. 

— " for princes J)eing at the top of human desires." — Adv. 

— " being at the top of all worldly bliss." — Hist. lien. VII. 

" And wears upon his holy brow the round 

And top of sovereignty." — Math., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

— " the top of admiration." — Temp., Act III. Sc. 1. 

— " like eyases that cry out on the top of question." 

Ham., Act II. Sc. 2. 

— "competitor in top of all design." — Ant. and Cleo., Act V. Sc. 1 
" If He, which is the top of judgment." 

Meas. for Meas., Act II. Sc. 2. 



— " superstitions and fantastical arts." — Adv., II. 

— " fantastical estates." — Sp , XIII. 268. 

— " but a certain fantastical and notional fire." 

Fab. of Cup., XV. 56. 



PARALLELISMS. 317 

•"according to the fantastic notions of Apollonius." — XY. 195. 
-" a kind of fantastic matter." — XV. 49. 

— " and telling her fantastical lies." — Oth., Act II. Sc. 1. 

— " that it alone is high fantastical." — Tw. Night, Act I. Sc. 1. 

" It was a mad fantastical trick." — Meas.for Meas., Act III. Sc.2 

" Are ye fantastical ? " — 3Iacb., Act I. Sc. 3. 

"Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven." 

Meets, for Meas., Act II. Sc. 2. 

— " fantastic garlands did she make." — Ham., Act IV. Sc. 7. 



— " and that was by that battle quenched and ended." — Sp., VI. 232. 
" This is the cause to quench all good spirits." — Letter. 

— " and these vapours quench the spirits by degrees." — Nat. Hist. 

" What hath quenched them." — Macb., Act II. Sc. 2. 

" And quench'd the stellar fires." — Lear, III. Sc. 7, 

— " to quench mine honour." — Ben. VII I., Act V. Sc. 2. 



" The clouds as chariots swift do scour the sky." — Psalm, VII. 105. 

— " and so this traitor Essex made his colour the scouring of some noble- ~f 
men and counsellors from her Majesty's favour." — XVI. n. 4 F. 

"What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug 

Would scour these English hence? " — Macb., Act V. Sc. 3. 

" The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
Doth choke the air with dust." — Tim., Act V. Sc. 3. 



— "that neither beareth the greatness of alteration." 

Bis., vn. 150. 

— " but that is an altering of government." — Speech. 

— "in removing or alteration of servants." — VII. 65. 

— " the alteration of religion." — VII. 149. 

— " to make so main an alteration in the Church." — VII. 70. 

— "and that the affrighted globe 
Should yawn at alteration." — Oth., Act V. Sc. 2. 

' " He 's full of alteration." — Lear, Act V. Sc. 1. 

"And changes fill the cup of alteration." 

2 Hen. IV., Act III. Sc. 1. 
" What an alteration of honour has 
Desperate want made." — Tim., Act IV. Sc. 3. 



818 PARALLELISMS. 

*' The Church of Rome, a donative cell of the King of Spain." - 

VII. 162. 

— 4< the obscure cells of solitary monks." — Int. of Nat. 

— " that part of learning which answereth to one of the cells, domicils, 
or offices, of the mind of man; which is that of Memory." — Adv. II. 

— " bred in the cells of gross and solitary monks." — Adv., II. 

" Your beadsman, therefore, addresseth himself to your Majesty for a cell 
to retire to." — Letter to the King. 

— " for it was time for me to go to a cell." — Letter. 

11 It were a pretty cell for my fortune." — Letter. 

— " not that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell." — Temp., Act I. Sc. 2. 

— u it is a cell of ignorance." — Cym., Act IV. Sc. 2. 

— " sweet cell of virtue and nobility." — Tit. And., Act I. Sc. 2. 

" O, proud death ! 
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell? " — Ham., Act V. Sc. 2. 



— * the vapours and fumes of law." — Sp., VII. 268. 

— " and these vapours quench the spirits by degrees." — Nat. His. 

" By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him." 

1 Hen. IV., Act I. Sc.2. 



— u the local centre and heart of the laws of this realm." — Sp., VII. 

— " this foul swine 
Lies now even in the centre of this isle." 

Rich. TIL, Act V. Sc. 2. 



— "whereof he doubteth not they have heard by glimpses." — Sp., VII, 
310. 

— " the fault and glimpse of newness." 

Measure for Measure, Act I. Sc. 3. 
" That thou, dead corse, in complete steel 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon." — Ham., Act I. Sc. 4. 

11 1 hope I shall not be found to have the troubled fountain of a corrupt 
heart." — Letter, 1620. 

" Our pleasure therefore is, who are the head and fountain of justice in 
our dominions." — VII. 327. 

" For there are certain fountains of justice, whence all civil laws are 
derived but as streams." — Adv.. II. 295. 



PARALLELISMS. 319 

- ■ his majesty who is the fountain of grace." — Sp., VII. 252. 

- " the ready fountain of her continual benignity." 

Dls. of Eliz. VII. 156. 
-" the most sacred fountain of all grace and goodness." — VII. 6. 

- " the spring-head thereof seemeth to me not to have been visited." 

Adv. 
" The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 

Is stopp'd. — 

Macd. Your ro} r al father 's murder'd." — Macb., Act II. Sc. 3. 
" The fountain from which my current runs." — Oth., Act IV. §c. 2. 
— u the fountain of our love." — Tro. and Cress., Act III. Sc. 2. 



— " those legions of spectres and worlds of shadows, which we see hov- 
ering over all the expanse of the philosophies." — Int. Globe, XII. 155. 

" With many legions of strange fantasies." — K. John, Act V. Sc. 7. 

— " she hath legions of angels." — Mer. Wives, Act I. Sc. 3. 

" Methought a legion of foul fiends," — Richard III., Act I. Sc. 4. 



— "move always and be carried with the motion of your first mover 
which is your sovereign." — Sjp., VII. 259. 

[This "first mover" comes from Aristotle, who treats of 
the Divine Spirit, or absolute cause of all movement, as the 
"First Mover" (-purov x^ow).] 

" 0, thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! " 

2 Hen. VI, Act III Sc. 3. 



" I think that all this dust is raised by light rumours and buzzes." — Speech 

11 Suspicions that the mind of itself gathers are but buzzes; but suspicions 
that are artificially nourished and put into men's heads by the tales and 
whisperings of others, have stings." — Essay, XXXI. 

" For I will buzz abroad such prophecies." 

3 Henry VI, Act V. Sc. 6. 

"Glos. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 
To set my brother Clarence, and the king, 
In deadly hate the one against the other." 

Richard III, Act I. Sc. 1. 



— "well studied in the book of God's word, or in the bock of God's 
works: divinity or philosophy." — Adv., Spedd., VI. 97. 



320 PARALLELISMS. 

— "and so by degrees to read in the volumes of his creatures." 

Int. Nat., Ibid. 36. 

— " when the book of hearts shall be opened." — Letter, 1620. 

— " laying before us two books or volumes to study, if we will be se- 
cured from error; first the Scriptures revealing the will of God, and then 
the creatures expressing his power." — Int. Nat, Ibid. 33. 

" P the world's volume 
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; 
In a great pool, a swan's nest." — Cymb., Act III. Sc. 4. 

" Jul. 0, Nature, — 

Was ever book containing such vile matter 

So fairly bound? " — Rom. and Juliet, Act III. Sc. 2. 

"In Nature's infinite book of secrecy, 

A little I can read." — Ant. and Cleo., Act I. Sc. 2. 

"Within the book and volume of my brain." 

Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5. 

" The leaf of barrage hath an excellent spirit to repress the fuliginous 

vapour of dusky melancholy, and so to cure madness; — it will 

make a sovereign drink for melancholy passions." — Nat Hist., § 18. 

— " sable colored melancholy." — Love's Labor's Lost, Act I. Sc. 1. 

— " and dusky vapours of night." — 1 Henry VI., Act II. Sc. 2. 

— " borne with black vapours." — 2 Henry VI., Act II. Sc. 4. 

— " the sovereign'st thing on earth 
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise." — 1 Henry IV., Act I. Sc. 3. 



" Because the partition of sciences are not like several lines that meet in 
one angle, but rather like branches of trees that meet in one stem." 

XVI. n. 4, Apj>. 
"As many arrows loos'd several ways 

Fly to one mark ; 

As many several ways meet in one town ; 

As many fresh streams run in one self-sea ; 

As many lines close in the dial's centre." — Henry V., Act I. Sc. 2. 



" Caius Marius was general of the Romans against the Cimbers, who came 
With such a sea of multitude upon Italy." — Apoth. 242. 

" Who taught the bee to sail through such a vast sea of air ? " — Adv. 

" Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 
Making the green one red." — Macb., Act II. Sc. 1 (2). 



PARALLELISMS. 321 

" But my level is no farther but to do the part of a true friend." 

Letter, 1623. 
" As for all direct or indirect glances or levels at men's persons." — VII. 59. 
— " for the other do level point blank at the inventory of causes and 
axioms." — Nat. Hist. 

[A favorite expression.] 

" Everything lies level to our wish." — Henry IV. 
u We steal by line and level." — Tempest. 
"And hold their level with thy princely heart." — Henry IV. 
" Can thrust me from a level consideration." — 2 Henry IV. 
" And therefore level not to hit their lives." — Richard III. 
" For that 's the mark I know you level at." — Pericles. 
— '• no levell'd malice 
Infects one comma in the course I hold." — Timon. 



— " and be so true to thyself as thou be not false to others." — Ess., XXEH. 

"Pol To thine own self be true; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man." — Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 3. 



" The poets make fame a monster. They describe her in part elegantly; 
and in part gravely and sententiously. They say look how many feathers 
she hath; so many eyes she hath underneath; so many tongues; so many 
voices; she pricks up so many ears. This is a flourish. There follow excel- 
lent parables; as that she gathereth strength in going; that she goeth upon 
the ground, and yet hideth her head in the clouds: that in the day time she 
sitteth in a watchtower, and flieth most by night: that she mingleth things 
done with things not done and that she is a terror to great cities 

" But now, if a man can tame this monster, — But we are infected 

with the style of the poets." — Essay of Fame. 

" Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 
Bum. Open your ears ; for which of you will stop 
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? 
I from the Orient to the drooping AVest, 
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of Earth: 
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
The which in every language I pronounce, 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 

Rumour is a pipe 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures: 
And of so easy and so plain a stop, 
21 



322 PARALLELISMS. 

That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
Can play upon it." — 2 Henry IV., 2nd. 



" And as for Maximilian, upon twenty respects, he could not have been 
the man." — Hist. Henry VII, 

— "so that acts of this nature (if this were one) do more good than 
twenty bills of grace." — Letter, 1617. 

[" Twenty " is an habitual expletive of this author.] 

"Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows." 

Richard //., Act II. Sc. 2. 
"And I as rich in having such a jewel 

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl." — Gent, of Ver. 
" Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns." 

3 Henry VI., Act III. Sc. 2. 

— "twenty times his worth." — 2 Henry VI., Act III. Sc. 2. 

— " twenty thousand times." — Ibid., Act III. Sc. 2. 

— " twenty times so many faces." — Ibid., Act II. Sc. 4. 

— " twenty times their power." — Ibid., Act II. Sc. 4. 
"With twenty thousand soul confirming oaths." 

Gent, of Ver., Act II. Sc. 6. 

" I am yours surer to you than your own life ; for as they speak of the 
turquoise stone in a ring, I will break into twenty pieces before you have the 
least fall." — - Letter to Essex, XII. 292. 

" Tub. One of them shewed me a ring, that he had of your daughter for 
a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal ; it was my turquoise : I 
had it of Leah when I was a bachelor." — Mer. of Ven., Act II. Sc. 1. 



" Yet evermore it must be remembered that the least part of knowledge, 
passed to man by this so large charter from God, must be subject to that 
use, for which God hath granted it, which is the benefit and relief of the 
state and society of man." — Int. of Nat. 

" Nature never lends 
The smallest scruple of her excellence; 
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
Herself the glory of a creditor — 
Both thanks and use." — Measure for Measure, Act I. Sc. 2. 



" With regard to the countenance, be not influenced by the old adage, 
• Trust not to a man's face.' " — Be Aug., (Boston), IX. 272. 



PARALLELISMS. 323 

" There 's no art ~*/ 

To find the mind's construction in the face." — Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 4. 



u Deformed persons are commonly even with nature ; — for as nature has 
3one ill by them, so do they by nature, being for the most part (as the 
Scripture saith) void of natural affection: and so they have their revenge 
of natures. Certainly there is a consent between the body and the mind, 

and where nature erreth in the one, she ventureth in the other: the 

curse that the Psalm speaketh of, That it shall be like the untimely fruit of a 

icoman, brought forth before it come to perfection Whosoever hath 

anything fixed in his person, that doth induce contempt, hath also a per- 
petual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself from scorn; therefore 

all deformed persons are extreme bold But because there is in man 

an election, touching the frame of his mind, and a necessity in the frame 
o£ his body, the stars of natural inclination are sometimes obscured by the 
sun of discipline and virtue.' 1 —Ess.. I. 46. 

— " which had been the spur of this region." — Fel. Q. Eliz., I. 400. 

" Glos. For I have often heard my mother say, 

I came into the world with my legs forward 

The midwife wondered ; and the women cried, 
' 0, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth ! ' 
And so I was; which plainly signified 
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 
Then, since the Heavens have shap'd my body so, 
Let Hell make crook' d my mind to answer it." 

3 Henry VI, Act V. Sc. 6 

" Glos. I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Deform' d, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
And that so lameh r and unfashionable, 
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them ; — 
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
Have no delight to pass away the time, 
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
And descant on mine own deformity: 
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
I am determined to prove a villain, 
And hate the idle pleasures of these days." 

Richard III., Act L Sc. 1 



" Glos. Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer by this sun of York." — Ibid., Act I. Sc L 

" I have no spur 
To prick the sides of my intent." — Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 7. 



324 PARALLELISMS. 

As this list must have an end, let it be closed with a 
comparison of Bacon's iC Office of Constables " (published 
in 1608) with the scenes of the Watch in the "Much Ado 
About Nothing", (written in 1599,) thus : — 

" 4 Ques. Of what rank or order of men are they? Ans. They be men 

as is now used, of inferior, yea, of base condition ; and that they be 

not aged or sickly, in respect of keeping watch and toil of their place : nor 
that they be in any man's livery intended and executed for con- 
servation of peace, and repression of all manner of disturbance and hurt of 
the people, and that as w r ell by way of prevention as punishment. To take 

the ancient oath of allegiance of all males above twelve years The 

election of the petty constable is by the people." 

"Dogberry. Are you good men and true ? 

Verges. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body 
and soul. 

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them; if they should 

have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince's Watch 

First, who think you is the most desartless man to be Constable ? 

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal, for they can read and 
write. 

Dogb. Why you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman." 

— " and that the statutes made for the punishment of sturdy beggars, 
vagabonds, rogues, and other idle persons coming within your office be truly 

executed and the offenders punished Likewise the additional power 

which is given by divers statutes, it is hard to comprehend in any brevity." 

"Dogb You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit 

man for the Constable of the Watch ; therefore, bear you the lantern. This 
is your charge. You shall comprehend all vagrom men; and you are to bid 
any man stand in the Prince's name." 

"6 Ques. What if they refuse to do their office? Command 

them in the king's name to keep peace, and depart, and forbear." 

"2 Watch. How if he will not stand? How if the nurse be 

asleep and will not hear us ? 

Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the child awake her with 
crying 

1 Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name, stand." 

a 5 Ques. What allowance have the constables? Ans. They have no 
allowance, but are bound by duty to perform their office gratis ; which may 
be endured, because it is but annual." 

"Dogb for, for the watch to babble and talk is most tolerable 

and not to be endured." 

— " and to inquire of all default of officers, as constables, aletasters, and 
the like And so much for the peace." 



PARALLELISMS. 325 

"Dogb Well, you are to call at all the alehouses, and bid those 

that are drunk get them to bed This is the end of the charge." 

" The use of his office is rather for preventing or staying of mischief than 

for p unishment of offences Likewise the power which is given by 

divers statutes — or when sudden matter ariseth upon his view, or 

notorious circumstances, to apprehend offenders, and to carry them before the 
justices of peace, and generally to imprison in like cases of necessity, when 
the case will not endure the present carrying of the party before the justices. 

the jury being to present offenders, and offences are chiefly to take 

light from the constable and to resist and punish all turbulent per- 
sons, whose misdemeanors may tend to the disquiet of the people 

That two sufficient gentlemen or yeomen shall be appointed constables of 
every hundred; — the sheriff thereof shall nominate sufficient persons to be 
bailiffs." 

"Dogb. You, Constable, are to present the Prince's own person : if you 

meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him Five shillings to 

one on 't, with any man that knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not 
without the Prince be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no 
man, and it is an offence to stay a man against his will." — Act III. Sc. 3. 

"Sex. But which are the offenders, that are to be examined? let them 
come before Master Constable." — Act 1 V. Sc. 2. 

"Dogb. If there be any matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your 
fellows' counsels and your own and good night." — Act HI. Sc. 3. 

"Dogb. One word, sir, our watch, sir, have, indeed, comprehended two 
auspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before 
your worship. 

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me. 

Dogb. It shall be suffigance." — Act III. Sc. 5. 

"And the constable ought to seize his goods, and inventory them in 
presence of honest neighbours/" 

"Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, 
sir, but in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. 

Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old 
man, and no honester than I 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious 

Dogb. Well, one word more, honest neighbours." — Act III. Sc. 5. 

— ' or do suspect him of murder or felony, he may declare it to the 
constable, and the constable ought, upon such declaration or complaint, to 
tarry him before a justice of peace: and if by common voice or fame any 
man be suspected— If any house be suspected—" 

6i Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office 

!o be no true man 

2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him ? 



326 PARALLELISMS. 

Dogb. Truly, by your office you may ; but, I think, they that touch pitch 
mil be defiled.'' — Act III. Sc. 3. 

"Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my 
years?" — Act IV. Sc. 2. 

" You shall swear that you shall well and truly serve the king." 

"Dogb. Masters, do you serve Godf 

Bor. Yes, sir, we hope — 

Dogb. Write down — that they hope they serve God." — Act IV. Sc. 2. 

" There is a clerk of the peace for the entering and engrossing all pro- 
ceedings before the said justices Others there are of that number 

called justices of peace and quorum The chief of them is called 

custos rotulorum" 

"Dogb. We will spare for no wit I warrant you; here 's that [touching his 
forehead] shall drive some of them to a non. com. : only get the learned 
writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the goal." 

Act III. Sc. 5. 

u Slen. In the County of Gloster, justice of peace and coram. 

Shah Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-a-lorum. 

Slen. Ay, and rotolorum too." — Merry Wives of Windsor, Act I. Sc. 1. 

The list of these similitudes might be greatly extended, 
without loss to the force of evidence which they exhibit : 
indeed, the comparison would be almost without limit, if it 
could be carried, in this form, to all those individual pecu- 
liarities, minute resemblances, more delicate touches, and 
finer shades of meaning, which impress the mind of the 
critical reader no less palpably, but which must lose their 
force when wrenched from the context in this manner. 
Like the character of a handwriting, the identity can be 
distinctly seen and felt, while the particulars wherein it 
consists can scarcely be pointed out, or described. But 
surely, here is enough to establish such a correspondence, 
nay, absolute identity, in the thought, style, manner, and 
diction, and in the distinguishing peculiarities of these writ- 
ings, as was never known to exist in the compositions of 
any two different authors that ever lived. It is safe to say 
no such list can be produced from the writings of any two 
authors of that or any other age : no similarity of life, 
genius, or studies ever produced an identity like this. And 



PARALLELISMS. 327 

here, the vast difference which is known to have existed 
between these men, in respect of their education, studies, 
and whole personal history, would seem to preclude all pos- 
sibility of mistake. The coincidences are not merely such 
as might be attributed to the style and usage of that age : 
they extend to the scope of thought, the particular ideas, 
the modes of thinking and feeling, the choice of metaphor, 
the illustrative imagery, and those singular peculiarities, 
oddities, and quaintnesses of expression and use of words, 
which everywhere and in all times mark and distinguish 
the individual writer. 



CHAPTER V. 

MODELS. 

" For true art is always capable of advancing." 1 — Bacon. 

§ 1. "ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES." 

It has already been observed, that Bacon had a purpose, 
though he broke the order of time, to attempt to draw 
down to the senses things which flew too high over men's 
heads in general, in other forms of delivery, by means of 
patterns of natural stories, and feigned histories or speak- 
ing pictures ; and it would seem to be very clear, that he 
had a similar object in view in those "illustrative examples," 
which were to constitute the Fourth Part of the Great In- 
stauration, which was never published, nor indeed written, 
otherwise than as we may have some part of it, or at least 
some exemplification of what it was in part to be, in these 
very plays. First, premising that after the Second Philos- 
ophy, in the previous parts, had succeeded in furnishing the 
understanding with "the most surest helps and precautions," 
and had "completed, by a rigorous levy, a host of divine 
works," nothing would remain to be done but " to attack 
Philosophy herself," and that, in a matter " so arduous and 
doubtful," a few reflections must necessarily be inserted, 
'* partly for instruction and partly for present use," he pro- 
ceeds : — 

"The first of these is, that we should offer some ex- 

1 "Quin contra, artem veram adolescere statuimus." — Scala Intellectus, 
Works (Boston), V. 181; Trans, of Bacon, (Mont), XI Y. 426-7; (Phil.) 
III. 519. 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 329 

amples of our method and course of investigation and 
discovery, as exhibited in particular subjects ; preferring 
the most dignified subjects of our inquiry, and such as 
differ most from each other, so that in every branch we 
may have an example. Nor do we speak of those examples, 
which are added to particular precepts and rales by way of 
illustration (for we have furnished them abundantly in the 
Second Part of our work), but we mean actual types and 
models, calculated to place, as it were, before our eyes 
[" sub oculos "] the whole process of the mind, and the con- 
tinuous frame [_"fabricam "] and order of discovery in par- 
ticular subjects selected for their variety and importance. 
For we recollect that in mathematics, with the diagram 
before our eyes, the demonstration easily and clearly fol- 
lowed, but without this advantage, everything appeared 
more intricate and more subtle than was really the case. 
We devote, therefore, the Fourth Part of our work to such 
examples, which is in fact nothing more than a particular 
and fully developed application of the Second Part." * 

As it is said in his letter to Fulgentius, the great Instau- 
ration began with the De Augmentis Scientiarum as the 
first part ; the Novum Organum was the second part ; the 
Natural History was the third part ; these Examples were 
to be the fourth part ; the Prodromus (or forerunner of the 
Second Philosophy) was to be the fifth part ; and the sixth 
part would complete philosophy itself, and " touch almost 
the universals of nature." In this consummation of the 
Second Philosophy, he would, of course, arrive again at the 
Philosophia Prima, by that road, and in that way ; and so, 
philosophy itself would necessarily include both the First 
and the Second Philosophy in one Universal Science, which 
would amount to " Sapience," or "the knowledge of all 
things divine and human." 2 In this letter, the subject of 
the Fourth Part is introduced in connection with certain 

1 Distribution of the Work; Works (Mont.), XIV. 22; (Spedd., I. 225). 

2 De Aug. ScienL 



330 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

portions of the Natural History, concerning winds, and 
touching life and death, which he mentions as " mixed 
writings composed of natural history, and a rude and im- 
perfect instrument, or help of the understanding." He 
then proceeds to say, that this Fourth Part should contain 
many examples of that instrument, more exact and much 
more fitted to rules of induction." From these expressions 
alone it might be inferred that these examples were to be 
confined strictly to matters of physical inquiry ; but when 
it is considered, that the scope of his system always em- 
braced the whole field of knowledge (however divided into 
parts), of which his principal divisions were God, Nature, 
and Man, it may not appear incredible that this instrument 
or help of the understanding, and these examples, were to 
find an application to man and human affairs as well as to 
mere physical nature. 

Indeed, all question of this would seem to be set at rest 
by his Thirteen Tables of the Thread of the Labyrinth ; 
for, in the paper entitled " Filnm. Labyrinthi sive Inquisitio 
Legitima de Motu" these tables are enumerated in like 
manner as a part of Natural Philosophy, and in the Novum 
Organum, they are spoken of as included in the Fourth 
Part. The only specimens of them actually found at- 
tempted in his works are certain fragments, under such 
titles as Heat and Cold, Sound and Hearing, Dense and 
Rare, the History of Winds, and the like ; but that the en- 
tire series was to have a much wider range, is evident from 
his own " Digest of the Tables," which is as follows : — 

" The first are tables of motion ; the second, of heat 
and cold ; the third, of the rays of things and impressions 
at a distance ; the fourth, of vegetation and life ; the fifth, 
of the passions of the animal body ; the sixth, of sense 
and objects ; the seventh, of the affections of the mind ; 
the eighth, of the mind and its faculties. These pertain to 
the separation of nature, and concern Form ; but these 
which follow pertain to the construction of nature, and con- 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 331 

cern Matter. Ninth, of the architecture of the world ; 
tenth, of great relations, or the accidents of essence ; 
eleventh, of the composition of bodies or inequality of 
parts ; twelfth, of species or the ordinary fabric and com- 
binations of things ; and thirteenth, of small relations or 
properties. And so a universal inquisition may be com- 
pleted in thirteen tables." 1 

It is not easy to understand exactly what his meaning 
was ; but he probably considered motion as a phenomenal 
effect of force ; and there is no motion without moving 
power. Addressing himself to an inquiry into the nature, 
laws, limitations, and modes of power, or forces, by experi- 
mental methods, and finding the subject presented in 
nature in the shape of phenomenal facts as effects, he 
would naturally begin with a table of motions. Indeed, he 
defined Heat as being nothing else but motion, or moving 
force ; a doctrine which our more modern science, from 
Eumford to Tyndall, confirms. Pursuing the study to the 
end, he would expect to arrive, in time, at a knowledge of 
"the last power and cause of nature." But, at first, he 
would begin with the secondary powers or forces, taking 
the phenomenal effects as facts, in such subjects as heat 
and cold, the radiating motions producing impressions at a 
distance (what are now treated of under the names of light, 
heat, electricity, magnetism, and the like), sound and hear- 
ing, density and rarity, the ebb and flow of the sea, winds, 
&c. He then comes to the motions of vegetable and ani- 
mal life, the passions, the senses, the affections, or emotions, 
and, at last, to the mind itself and the mental faculties. In 
all this, the inquiry looks to the form or law. Bacon's 
idea of form would seem to have been identical with what 
we would now call law of power giving form to itself.' 2 And 
so this portion of the Tables would span the whole field of 
sensible and visible motions in nature, beginning with the 

1 Works (Boston), VII. 170. 

2 Trans, of Nov. Org., II. 2; WorJcs (Boston), VIII. 168; 206. 



332 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

mind of nature, or thinking power in the Creator, and end- 
ing in mind, or finite thinking power in man. The other 
portion concerned rather the architectural structure of the 
universe, the greater accidents or relative qualities of 
essences, the composition of bodies, the species of things, 
whether vegetable, animal, or mineral, and finally, the 
lesser accidents, relative qualities or properties of material 
things ; and all this concerned matter as it is presented to 
observation in nature, as such. 

It is plain we were to have Tables of the passions, the 
senses, the emotions or affections, and the faculties of the 
mind. There was to be not only a contemplative science, 
but an active science pointing to practical uses. And 
these illustrative examples of the Fourth Part may very 
well have been intended to embrace all branches of this 
" universal inquisition." 

In fact, so much is expressly declared in the Novum Or- 
ganum, thus : — 

u It may also be asked (in the way of doubt rather than 
objection) whether I speak of natural philosophy only, or 
whether I mean that the other sciences, logic, ethics, and 
politics, should be carried on by this method. Now I cer- 
tainly mean what I have said to be understood of them all ; 
and as the common logic, which governs by the syllogism, 
extends not only to natural but to all sciences ; so does 
mine also, which proceeds by induction, embrace every- 
thing. For I form a history and tables of discovery for 
anger, fear, shame, and the like ; for matters political ; and 
again for the mental operations of memory, composition, 
and division, judgment, and the rest ; not less than for 
cold, or light, or vegetation, or the like. But, nevertheless, 
since my method of interpretation (after the history has 
been prepared and duly arranged) regards not the working 
and discourse of the mind only (as the common logic 
does), but the nature of things also, I supply the mind 
with such rules and guidance that it may in every case 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 883 

apply itself to the nature of things. And, therefore, I de- 
liver many and diverse precepts in the doctrine of Inter- 
pretation, which in some measure modify the method of 
invention according to the quality and condition of the 
subject of inquiry." x 

This Fourth Part. then, was not to be strictly a system 
of psychology, but it was to arrive at a knowledge of the 
actual nature of things, in a visible representation of the 
whole process of the mind in the continuous fabric and 
order of discovery in these special and very noble sub- 
jects. The method was to be according to the quality 
and condition of the subject. He intimates also, that his 
method cannot be brought down to common apprehension, 
save by effects and works only. He does not desire to pull 
down or destroy the philosophy, arts, and sciences " at 
present in use/' but is glad to see them - used, cultivated, 
and honored." But he gives •• constant and distinct warn- 
ing, that by the methods now in use, neither can any great 
progress be made in the doctrines and contemplative part 
of sciences, nor can they be carried out to any magnitude 
of works.'' and that if works of magnitude are to be ac- 
complished in this kind, it must be done in his way. Again, 
he says. " discoveries are. as it were, new creations and 
imitations of God's works, — as well sang the poet : — 

" To man's frail race great Athens long ago 
Eirst gave the seed whence waving harvests grow, 
And re-created all our life below.'" 2 

This same purpose is expressed, again, with a still more 
distinct and unmistakable reference to something of this 
kind, in that introduction or preface to the Fourth Part, 
which is styled the " Scaling Ladder of the Intellect, or 
Thread of the Labyrinth," 3 in which he states that these 
"illustrative examples" (•• exemplaria") were to be "in the 

i Nov. Org., Work* (Boston), I. 333: (Trans. . Till. lb. 159). 
* Works (Mont.), XIY. 426-7 (Philad. III. 519), trans, by F. TV. ; Works 
(Boston), Y. 177-181. 
3 Worts (Boston), VIII. 161. 



334 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

form which we think most agreeable to truth, and regard 
as approved and authorized " [" ut probatam et electam "]. 
Nor would he regard " the customary fashion " [" more apud 
homines recepto "] as absolutely necessary in all the parts 
of this formula, as if they must be one and inviolable ; for 
he did not think the industry and happiness of men were 
to be bound, as it were, to u a single pillar " [" ad colum- 
nam "]. It would seem to be very plain from the whole 
context, as well as from the use of this figure of the 
" single pillar," and this reference to the one and inviolable 
custom hitherto received among men, that he meant to allude 
to that indispensable and inviolable law of unity, which 
had always been imperiously required as an absolute rule 
of composition in all dramatic writing, ancient and mod- 
ern ; especially when it is distinctly declared, in the con- 
cluding sentence, that the subject, of which he was speak- 
ing, was no other than " true art," thus : " Nothing, indeed, 
need prevent those who possess great leisure, or have sur- 
mounted the difficulties infallibly encountered in the be- 
ginning of the experiment, from carrying onward the pro- 
cess here pointed out [ u rem monstratam "]. On the con- 
trary, it is our firm conviction that true art is always capa- 
ble of advancing." [" Quin contra, artem veram adolescere 
statuimusP~\ The translation of " F. W.," taken from the 
edition of Montagu, is here followed. Mr. Spedding, ap- 
parently unable to make out the meaning of this passage, 
or, perhaps, not looking for this sense of it, seems to think 
that " this can hardly be what Bacon wrote," * and that 
possibly the manuscript was imperfect at the end ; but cer- 
tainly, if understood with reference to this view of the sub- 
ject, it will be found to be in keeping with the main tenor 
and purport of the whole tract. And probably this was as 
much as he intended to say then, on that head, and so 
stopped short there. 

Certainly, after this distinct intimation of his intent, we 
i Works (Boston), Y. 181, n. (1). 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 335 

need not be surprised to find the ancient unities almost 
wholly disregarded in these plays ; nor that Coleridge 
should find them to be a new kind of dramatic romance, 
differing in genus from the ancient drama ; nor that they 
should answer admirably well to Bacon's conception of a 
representative visible history, a speaking picture, or a type 
and model of the whole process of the mind, and the con- 
tinuous fabric and order of discovery in the most noble 
subjects ; nor that they should partake of that sweet travel- 
ling through universal variety, which was to be the lot of 
him who should be able to climb the hill of the Muses. 

The " Winter's Tale " and the " Tempest " were both writ- 
ten in 1611. Some critics have supposed that Shakespeare, 
in the " Tempest," had a special purpose of showing that he 
could write a play which should strictly observe the ancient 
unities ; while others, like Mr. White, have noticed that 
the " Winter's Tale " is written in utter defiance of the one 
and inviolable rule : in this instance, for certain, the author 
would not be bound to "a single pillar." He puts sixteen 
years between two acts. Inland countries are brought to 
the sea. The Delphic Oracle, the King of Sicily, the Em- 
peror of Russia, and psalm-singing Puritans, are made to 
figure upon the same stage. And the Chorus of the fourth 
act, in the name of Time, gives such reason for it as at 
once to remind us of the promised disregard of the received 
custom, thus : — 

" Time. I that please some, try all, both joy and terror 
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide 
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untri'd, 
Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power 
To overthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
To plant and overwhelm custom. Let me pass 
The same I am, ere ancient' st order was, 
Or what is now received: I witness to 
The times that brought them in : so shall I do 



836 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

The glistering of this present, as my tale 
Now seems to it. Your patience, thus allowing, 
I turn mv glass, and give my scene such growing 
As you had slept between." 

Here is identity in both the thought and the language ; 
and can it be due to accidental coincidence, rather than to 
the habitual expression of one and the same writer, that we 
have here, also, the same figure of art growing (" adoles- 
cere ") and a scene growing ? And considering what these 
models should be, that were to place the whole order and 
process of discovery in particular subjects before the eyes 
(" sub oculos "), it is, at least, not clear that it could be 
anything else than precisely what Hamlet demanded of the 
dramatic art, namely, that it should hold the mirror up to 
nature ; and, according to the interpretation of Professor 
Gervinus, u that it should give a representation of life, of 
men and their operating powers, by which means it works 
indeed morality, but in the purest poetic way, by image, by 
lively representation, and by imaginative skill. To perceive 
and to know the virtues and crimes of men, to reflect them 
as in a mirror, and to exhibit them in their sources, their 
nature, their workings, and their results, and in such a way 
as to exclude chance and to banish arbitrary fate, which can 
have no place in a well-ordered world, — this is the task 
which Shakespeare has imposed upon the poet and upon 
himself." 1 

The New Atlantis was written expressly as a pattern of 
a natural story, and it can scarcely be accounted an acci- 
dental circumstance, that this same figure of the " pillar " 
appears, again, in connection with a pretty comprehensive 
conception of human works, in that " great miracle " which 
brought the canonical books of Scripture to the island of 
Bensalem, " in a great pillar of light," rising from the sea 
toward heaven, and so approaching the shore ; on behold- 
ing which, one of the wise men of Solomon's House fell 

l Shakes. Comm. (London, 1863), I. 325. Trans, by F. E. Bunnett. 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 337 

upon his knees and began to pray, thus : " Lord God of 
heaven and earth, thou hast vouchsafed of thy grace, to 
those of our order, to know the works of creation, and the 
secrets of them ; and to discern as far as appertaineth to 
the generations of men, between divine miracles, works of 
nature, works of art, and impostures and illusions of all 
sorts." 

It will be remembered that Bacon's scheme of philos- 
ophy constituted a kind of intellectual globe, or full circle. 
In that collection of Antitheses, which he speaks of as a 
youthful labor, he expresses himself thus : " It is good to 
have the orb of the mind concentric with the universe." 
Starting from the Philosophia Prima with a summary par- 
tition of all the knowledge and learning which the human 
race was in possession of, in his time, it proceeded through- 
the second or experimental and inductive philosophy, until 
the wheel was come full circle in philosophy itself, which 
was to be at once a knowledge of all science in a compre- 
hensible theory of the universe, and an active science and 
an intelligent power of action ; and the whole was to have 
a practical bearing and effect upon the business, uses, life, 
and happiness of man. Philosophy itself, the object of the 
Sixth Part, he says, was to have for its end, not only " con- 
templative enjoyment, but the common affairs and fortune 
of mankind, and a complete power of action." The Sec- 
ond Philosophy embraced his entire method, metaphysics 
included, but more especially, perhaps, as applied to phys- 
ical science as such ; but it was also to include the whole 
field of civil, industrial, and social affairs, and the practical 
life of the individual man, — " whatever, indeed, might ad- 
minister to the advantage and happiness of mankind." 
The Sixth Part, to which all the rest was to be subservient 
and auxiliary, was to culminate in a final and complete 
philosophy of the universe ; and it was to embrace, so far 
at least as the power and faculty of the human mind could 
go, a complete knowledge of "the order, operation, and 
22 



338 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

mind of Nature." Nor was it to give out a dream of the 
fancy as a model of the world ; but he would rather " pray 
to God, in his kindness, to vouchsafe to us the means of 
writing an apocalyptic revelation and true vision of the 
traces and stamps of the Creator upon his creatures " 
[creations]. 1 

But, doubtless, this Fourth Part, thus devoted to ex- 
amples, was, in a manner, to span both hemispheres of the 
intellectual globe, and, springing from the physical as basis 
and starting ground, reach the height of things in the 
metaphysical region of universalis. And so he tells us 
here, in this " Scaling Ladder," that he had described the 
introductory part of the progress in the second book (the 
Novum Organum), which expounded principles and rules 
for the right use of the understanding in the whole busi- 
ness, and, in the third, had " treated on the phenomena of 
the universe and on natural history, plunging into and 
traversing the woodlands, as it were, of Nature, here over- 
shadowed (as by foliage) with the infinite variety of exper- 
iments ; there perplexed and entangled (as by thorns and 
briers) with the subtlety of acute commentations." But 
now, he would advance " from the woods to the foot of the 
mountains," reaching " a more disengaged, but a more ar- 
duous station." He should " proceed from [natural] his- 
tory by a firm track, new, indeed, and hitherto unexplored, 
to universals." To these " paths of contemplation, in 
truth, might appositely be applied the celebrated and often 
quoted illustration of the double road of active life, of 
which one branch, at first even and level, conducted the 
traveller to places precipitous and impassable ; the other, 
though steep and rough at the entrance, terminated in per- 
fect smoothness. In a similar manner he, who, in the very 
outset of his inquiries, lays firm hold of certain fixed prin- 
ciples in the science, and, with immovable reliance upon 

1 Distribution (Plan) of the Work (Mont.), XIV. 24; Spedd. (Boston) 
I. 227. 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 339 

them, disentangles (as he will with little effort) what he 
handles, if he advances steadily onward, not flinching out 
of excess either of self-confidence, or of self-distrust, from 
the object of his pursuit, will find that he is journeying in 
the first of these two tracks ; and if he can endure to sus- 
pend his judgment, and to mount gradually, and to climb 
by regular succession the height of things, like so many 
tops of mountains, with persevering and indefatigable 
patience* he will in due time attain the very uppermost 
elevations of nature [" ad summitates et vertices naturce "], 
where his station will be serene, his prospect delightful, 
and his descent to all the practical arts by a gentle slope 
perfectly easy." * 

The patience and resolution here required may remind 
us, again, of the saying of Plato, that " the whole of nature 
being of one kindred, and the soul having before known 
all things [i. e. the Divine Soul, or Mind of Nature], there 
is nothing to prevent a person [i. e. a human soul], who 
remembers — what men call learning — only one thing, 
from again discovering all the rest ; if he has but courage, 
and seeking faints not." 2 In short, it must be borne in 
mind, that the Philosophia Prima, as it were, in advance, 
dealt with the whole state of knowledge previously existing, 
in which was included both the metaphysical philosophy of 
Plato, which, proceeding by the dialectic method of pure 
scientific thinking, learning all things from one, and arriving 
at a philosophy of the universe by that way, and also the 
philosophy of Democritus, Leucippus, and Aristotle, which 
rather from the beginning turned round and confronted 
nature face to face, and began to search out a philosophy 
of the universe, in that direction, by pursuing the paths 
and methods of physical inquiry. And so, Bacon having 
for himself arrived, in the first instance, at a philosophy of 
the universe, in his own mind, by the Platonic method, and, 

i Scaling Ladder, lb. XIV. 426; Spedd., V. 180. 
2 Meno, Works of Plato, (Bohn), III. 20. 



340 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

after the example of Plato's great disciple, Aristotle, seeing 
that the best way for the advancement of knowledge, the 
invention of new sciences, arts, and instruments, for the 
instruction, benefit, and uses of mankind in general, was, 
to follow that example, to begin where Democritus left off, 
and pursue the same direction and course of investigation, 
confronting Nature face to face, as it were, diligently set 
himself to work in good earnest to revive, correct, purify, 
renew, instaurate, and re-invigorate, both the degenerated 
and perverted Platonism, and the degenerated and per- 
verted Aristotelianism of his own time and all the later 
ages next preceding. But now, having in the second and 
third parts plunged into and traversed the woodlands of 
mere physical nature, amidst foliage, thorns, and briers, 
and having begun to advance from the woods to the foot 
of the mountains and that same hill of the Muses, he would, 
in this Fourth Part, begin to ascend by the double road of 
active and actual human life, and climbing with scaling 
ladders of the intellect, and threading the labyrinth of the 
civil, social, and moral fabric, would endeavor, at last, to 
reach the uppermost elevations and highest tops of things, 
in the magnificent temple, palace, city, and hill of the fabled 
descendants of Neptune, the vertex of Pan's Pyramid, and 
the cliff of Plato ; from which height, no man should any 
further leading need. 

So much we learn from himself concerning this curious 
Fourth Part. It is difficult to conceive what else was meant 
than something of this kind, by these examples or types 
and models ; and considering what the entire scope of his 
philosophical scheme was, the nature of the whole discus- 
sion in these particular fragments, and the express declara- 
tion that true art was always capable of advancing, the 
conclusion would seem to be well warranted, that at the 
date at which the Scaling Ladder was written, something 
of this kind was running in his mind, and that we actually 
have in these plays what he had himself clone towards this 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 341 

important part of the Great Instauration of all philos- 
ophy. 

At the same time, it is not necessarily to be inferred that 
the plays, when written, were designed actually to form this 
Fourth Part. It may be, that, in his original plan, this part 
of the systematic Installation was to have been written in 
prose with something of the same rigid investigation and 
scientific precision as the other parts, but upon the same 
general subject of the passions and affections, the mental 
powers and faculties, human character, civil and social 
affairs, and man and humanity in general ; but that for 
want of time to complete it in that form, he had, later in 
life, concluded to publish this Folio of 1623, together with 
the Essays and other writings of a civil and moral nature, 
and leave them to fill up this gap in the Great Instauration, 
in such manner and with such effect as they could. The 
Instauration was indeed the work of his whole life ; but the 
finished parts of it rather belong to his later years. The 
Advancement was in some measure a preliminary work, 
and it took the form of the De Aug mentis before becoming 
a part of the Great Instauration' in 1G23, and all the other 
parts were wholly, or chiefly, written after the period of the 
plays, and towards the close of his career. So, while the 
plays may have been written, as they doubtless were, under 
a natural and genuine poetic feeling and impulse, and even 
with a design to rival the ancient poets in the field of 
dramatic art, and with the general purpose of veiling his 
braver instruction to mankind under the poetic form of 
delivery, after the manner of all great poets, they are, in 
fact, at the same time, found to be pervaded with the whole 
spirit and scope of his philosophy ; and they may be safely 
taken as actual models and true illustrative examples of his 
method in that kind. 

This view may find some special confirmation in the 
following passages from the De Augmentis, which are de- 
serving of careful study in reference to certain prominent 



342 ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 

features in the character of these plays ; for in their general 
nature and scope they more especially concern the regimen, 
discipline, culture, and cure of the mind in respect of indi- 
vidual, social, moral, and civil or public good ; and truth to 
human nature and human character has always been noted 
as a peculiar excellence in them. Upon " the different 
characters of natures and dispositions" this work proceeds 
thus : — 

" And we are not here speaking of the common inclina- 
tions either to virtues or vices, but of those which are more 
profound and radical. And in truth I cannot sometimes but 
wonder that this part of knowledge should for the most 
part be omitted both in Morality and Polity, considering it 
might shed such a ray of light on both sciences. In the 
traditions of astrology men's natures and dispositions are 
not unaptly distinguished according to the predominances 
of the planets ; — 

[' a breath thou art. 
Servile to all the skyey influences 
That dost this habitation where thou keep'st 
Hourly inflict.' — Meets, for M., Act III. Sc. 1.] 

For some are naturally formed for contemplation, others 
for business, others for war, others for advancement of 
fortune, others for love, others for the arts, others for a 
varied kind of life; so among the poets (heroic, satiric, 
tragic, comic) are everywhere interspersed representations 
of characters, though generally exaggerated and surpassing 
the truth. . . . 

u Not however that I would have these characters pre- 
sented in ethics (as we find them in history or poetry or 
even in common discourse), in the shape of complete indi- 
vidual portraits, but rather the several features and simple 
lineaments of which they are composed, and by the various 
combinations and arrangements of which all characters 
whatever are made up, showing how many, and of what 
nature these are, and how connected and subordinate one 



ILLUSTRATIVE EXAMPLES. 343 

to another ; that so we may have a scientific and accurate 
dissection of minds and characters, and the secret dispositions 
of -particular men may be revealed ; and that from the knowl- 
edge thereof better rules may be framed for the treatment 
of the mind. 

"And not only should the characters of dispositions which 
are impressed by nature be received into this treatise, but 
those also which are imposed on the mind by sex, by age, 
by region, by health and sickness, by beauty and deformity, 
and the like ; and again, those which are caused by fortune, 
as sovereignty, nobility, obscure birth, riches, want, magis- 
tracy, privacy, prosperity, adversity, and the like. For we 
see that Plautus makest it a wonder to see an old man 
beneficent: His beneficence is that of a young man." 

And so, in the " Measure for Measure," in which these 
ideas and doctrines are in part and very admirably exem- 
plified, the Duke says : — 

" Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an 
assay of her virtue, to practise his judgment ivith the disposition of natures. . . 
The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my 
understanding ; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, / should 
wonder at Angelo." —Act 111. Sc. 1. 

He next proceeds to those " affections and perturbations 
of the mind, which are, as I have said, the diseases of the 
mind " : — 

" Claud. Has he affections in him, 
That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose, 
When he would force it? " — -Act J I J. Sc. 1. 

"But to speak the real truth," he continues, "the poets 
and writers of history are the best doctors of this knowl- 
edge, where we may find painted forth with great life and 
dissected, how affections are kindled and excited, and how 
pacified and restrained, and how again contained from act 
and further degree : — 

[" Isab. Ay! just: perpetual durance: a restraint — 
Though all the world's vastidity you had — 
To a determin'd scope." — lb. Act III. Sc. 1.] 



344 THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 

hov they disclose themselves though repressed and con- 
cealed ; how they work ; how they vary ; how they are en- 
wrapped one within another ; how they fight and encounter 
one with another ; and many other particularities of this 
kind ; amongst which this last is of special use in moral 
and civil matters ; how I say, to set affection against affec- 
tion, and to use the aid of one to master another; like 
hunters and fowlers who use to hunt beast with beast, and 
catch bird with bird : " 1 — as we may find it illustrated in 
this same play, and, indexed, in many others of this author, 
in such style, manner, and diction as to leave no room for 
doubt of his identity. 

It is not the purpose of this work to undertake by any 
complete analysis, or anything like a thorough exposition 
of the nature, scope, and drift of the several plays, to 
show in what manner and to what extent the object and 
intent of these illustrative examples, or models, have, been 
accomplished in them ; nor to consider of their merits as 
works of art. In the two sections following, some demon- 
stration will be given out of the "As You Like It," and the 
" Timon of Athens," as models and instances, first, that these 
plays were in fact written by Francis Bacon ; and second, 
that they do really answer the purpose supposed, in a very 
admirable manner. More than this might require another 
book. 

§ 2. THE AS YOU LIKE IT A MODEL. 

The comedy of "As You Like It" appears to have been 
written about the year 1600, and before any of the works 
of Bacon with which it will be compared were published, 
viz. : the Advancement, the Intellectual Globe, the Natural 
History, the History of Life and Death, and the De Aug- 
mentis. Shakespeare could have drawn nothing for this 
play from these works of Bacon : nor would Bacon have 

l Trans, of De Aug., by Spedding, Wo rhs (Boston), IX. 219-221. 



THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 345 

need to learn anything from "William Shakespeare, touching 
the parts of philosophy therein illustrated. 

In the main, this play is a story of love and friendship, 
with some slight exhibition of the accidents of fortune, into 
which the more important matters and topics are. as it were, 
collaterally and incidentally interwoven. The plot is taken 
from Dr. Lodge's novel of %; Rosalyncl, or Euphues' Golden 
Legacy," but nothing of the more distinguishing features, 
or more notable instruction, is drawn from that source ; and 
the characters of Jaques, Audrey, and the Clown, are wholly 
new. The author himself speaks more especially in the 
melancholy Jaques, in Touchstone, the motley-minded gen- 
tleman, and in Rosalind, instructed of the " great magician" ; 
and the old man Adam furnishes occasion for the discourse 
of Jaques on the Seven Ages, with a distinct touch of the 
History of Life and Death. In the garb of the motley fool. 
Touchstone, who is but another specimen of a *' Jove in a 
thatch'd house," that 

" hath strange places cramin'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms," 

lies concealed and (as it were in ambush) the i; natural phi- 
losopher" himself, with his instances ; and with the help of 
Audrey, a mere " country wench," he will get pretty deep 
into the philosophy of imagination and the true nature of 
poetry as " imaginations feigned." Rosalind, in the disguise 
of a boy, has conversed with a magician, since he was three 
years old : — 

" Oil. But. my good lord, this boy is forest-bom. 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
Obscured in the circle of this forest." — Act V. Sc. 4. 

And in Jaques, we have a man. who has got well out of 
"the woodlands of nature," and not only reached the foot 
of the mountain, but actually ascended nearly to the upper- 
most elevations, where his station is serene, and his prospect 



346 THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 

delightful ; and though his " often rumination " has gained 
him, among others, the title of " the melancholy Jaques," 
it only wraps himself in " a most humourous sadness." The 
matter lies, for the most part, upon " a more disengaged 
but a more arduous station," and in that part of '• the double 
road of active life," which, though " steep and rough " at 
the entrance, becomes " even and level " at the end, ter- 
minating in " perfect smoothness " ; but the scene, though 
not actually in u the woods," now, is still u partly in the 
Forest of Arden." Rosalind is banished by the envious 
Duke ; Celia, his daughter, her loving friend, determines 
to escape with her cousin, and they persuade the fool 
Touchstone to go with them ; and so, disguised, Rosalind 
in boy's clothes, Celia in the dress of a shepherdess, and 
Touchstone as servant, they become travellers in the 
woods : — 

" Bos. Well, this is the Forest of Arden. 

" Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool I ! When I was at 
home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content." — Act II. 
Sc. 4. 

Remembering that the road traversing " the woodlands " 
was overshadowed as by foliage, and perplexed and en- 
tangled with thorns and briers, and that one branch of the 
double road conducted the traveller to places precipitous 
and impassable, we may just notice, that the dialogue be- 
tween Celia and Rosalind, in the beginning, turns upon the 
condition of their estates ; but, says Rosalind, " Fortune 
reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature ;" 
and they soon discover that these " paths of contemplation " 
are beset with thorns and briers, thus : — 

" Bos. 0, how full of briars is this working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if 
we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them." — 
Act J. Sc. 3. 

So Bacon says : -— 

" Diligence and careful preparation remove the obstacles against which 
the foot would otherwise stumble, and smooth the path before it is entered; 



THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 347 

but he who is sluggish and defers everything to the last moment of execu- 
tion must needs walk every step as it were amidst briars and thorns, which 
catch and stop him." — Tr. of Be Aug., IX. Spedd. (Boston), 257. 

And Orlando, groping with old Adam in this " uncouth 
forest/' almost dead " for food," meeting the Duke, speaks 
thus : — 

" Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: 

I thought that all things had been savage here ; 

And therefore put I on the countenance 

Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are 

That in this desert inaccessible, 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; — 



You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the shew 
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred, 
And know some nurture." — Act II. Sc. 7. 



Things here were steep, rough, thorny, overshadowed 
with foliage and melancholy boughs, and rather precipitous 
and impassable to the traveller. 

Orlando introduces the old man Adam thus : — 

" There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd, 
(Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,) 

I will not touch a bit." — Act J J. Sc. 7. 

And while he is gone to find him out, the Duke and Jaques 
enter into that famous and very sage discourse upon the 
Seven Ages of the life of man, taking a wide and deep view 
of the subject. The Duke begins thus : — 

II Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: 
This wide and universal theatre 

Presents more woful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in." 

Jaques, who has already climbed by regular succession the 
height of things to a station serene, where he has a prospect 
of the order of nature and the errors of men, on this uni- 
versal theatre, and has been a traveller through the univer- 
sal variety, proceeds to deliver himself of his latest con- 



348 THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 

templation on the ages of man, in the following manner, 
which may be compared with the Essay of the Vicissitude 
of Things (first printed in 1625), which was derived in part 
from the History of Life and Death, namely : — 

" In the youth of a state arms do flourish; in the middle age of a state, 
learning; and then both of them together for a time; in the declining age 
of a state, mechanical arts and merchandize. Learning hath its infancy, 
when it is almost childish ; then its youth, when it is luxuriant and juvenile ; 
then its strength of years, when it is solid and reduced [ u sulidiores et 
exactiores"]] and lastly, its old age, when it waxeth dry and exhaust 
[** postremo senectus enrum obrepit, cum siccce et exhnust.ce ftunt, mnnente 
tamen gavmditate"] ; but it is not good to look too long upon these turning 
wheels of vicissitude, lest we become giddy." 

Take, now, the speech of Jaques, with the passages in- 
terspersed by way of commentary, thus : — 

" Jaq. All the world 's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, — 
His Acts being seven ages." 
[There were four ages of a state. " Meanwhile, the mind also hath cer- 
tain periods, but they cannot be described by years." — Hist, of Life and 
Death. 

" While states and empires pass many periods." — Masque. 
u While your life is nothing but a continual acting upon a stage." — Ibid.'] 

" At first, the Infant, 
Mewling and puking in his nurse's arms: 
And then, the whining School-boy, with his satchel 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school " : — 
[** Learning, too, hath its infancy"; . . . "then its youth, when it is 
luxuriant and juvenile." 

" The ladder of man's body is this, to be conceived, ... to suck, to be 
weaned, to feed upon pap." — Hist, of Life and Death.'] 

"And then the Lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow : Then a Soldier, 
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard; 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble Reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth: And then the Justice, 
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd; 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 



THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 349 

Full of wise saws and modern instances, — 
And so he plays his par: ": — 
[ — " then succeeds the manly age. when it becomes more solid and ex- 
act," says the Latin.] 

" The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper' d Pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side ; 
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank: and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound " : — 
[ — ,; and lastly, its old age, when it waxeth dry and exhaust," or. as the 
Latin reads. •'■ Lastly, its old age creeps on, when it becomes dry and ex- 
haust, garrulity only remaining.'"] 

"Last scene of all. 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans — everything." 

Act II. Sc. 7. 
[" But it is not good to look too long upon these turning wheels of vicissi- 
tude, lest we become giddy."] 

Here, there is resemblance in the thought, manner, and 
word, but not any absolute identity : the similitude is rather 
distant and remote, as we should expect to find it in writings 
so different in character, even the subject being not the 
same. As will be seen, the Latin translation comes nearer 
to the very language of the poetry than the English original 
of the Essay ; and upon a close study, it is pretty evident 
that, in the scientific study of the " Differences of Youth 
and Old Age.*' and in the " History of Life and Death,"' 
may be found the actual first origin of both the poetry and 
die prose. The general ideas are certainly very similar, 
the difference of the subject in the Essay necessarily occa- 
sioning some variations and omissions of particulars. The 
manner is nearly the same in both, and the turn of expres- 
sion, and use of words, is alike in both ; as for instance, the 
words creep, manly voice and manly age. severe and exact, 
tjamdity and childish treble, this strange eventful history and 
the turning wheels of vicissitude. And then we have the 
same order and succession of the like ideas as far as they 



350 THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 

go, with that difference of diction, and greater amplitude, 

which the nature of the subject, the exigencies of verse, and 

the poetic style demanded. 

Jaques exhibits a very remarkable liking for the fool 

Touchstone, — 

" Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the sun, 
And rail'd. on Lady Fortune in good terms, 
In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool ; " — 

but when he heard him moralize upon the time, he laughed 
a whole hour by his dial, — 

11 That Fools should be so deep-contemplative." 

And w r ell he might ; for this fool's brain is crammed with 
observation, his head is full of instances, and he appears, 
like many of this author's fools, to have much knowledge 
in many arts, though " ill-inhabited " : — 

u Jaq. This is the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in 
the forest: he hath been a courtier he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation." 

Then follows a sharp piece of satirical criticism upon Vin- 
centio Saviolo's code of honor ; but what is more particularly 
to be noted in this connection is, that the moralizing Jaques, 
who understands so well the many parts which man plays 
on the universal theatre, considering the wisdom "which he 
vents in mangled forms," is ready to exclaim : — 

"Jaq. 0, that I were a Fool! 

I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Duke 8. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It is my only suit: 

Provided that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
To blow on whom I please : for so fools have." — Act II. Sc. 7. 

Here is certainly a very good reason why this author should 
be so much in the habit of putting the profoundest conclu- 
sions of his philosophy into the mouths of his clowns and 
fools ; and in a larger view, it may have been for a some- 



THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 351 

what similar reason that such a writer should choose the 
dramatic form of delivery for the purpose of communicat- 
ing his braver instruction to mankind. In that age, 
especially, he needed liberty ; and his Genius must have 
the air of Freedom : — 

li Jaq. Give me leave 

To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world. 
If they will patiently receive my medicine." — Act II. Sc. 7. 

Touchstone proceeds with the shepherd, Corin, thus : — 

" Touch. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? 

Cor. Xo more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the more at ease 
he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three 
good friends : That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn : That 
good pasture makes fat sheep ; and that a great cause of the night is lack 
•of the sun : That he that hath learned no wit by Nature, nor Art, may com- 
plain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

Next, the dispute on good manners and the manners of 
courtiers and shepherds w T inds up with a challenge for 
instances : — 

" Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

And this is followed by a call for " a better instance," " a 
more sounder instance," and " a mended instance," very 
much after the manner of our natural philosopher him- 
self:— 

"Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he 's as good at anything, and 
yet a Fool. 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presenta- 
tion of that, he shoots his wit." 

So says Bacon to Essex, "You discourse well Quid igitur 
agendum est f I will shoot my fool's bolt, since you will 
have it so." 

Jaques had been a traveller, too, and his sadness was of 
a peculiar kind : — 

"Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
Jaq. I am so: I do love it better than laughing." 



852 THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 

Rosalind thinks all such must be " abominable fellows," but 
Jaques, that it is " good to be sad and say nothing " : — 

"IZos. Why then it is good to be a post." — Act IV Sc. 1. 

This may remind the critical reader of Bacon's discussion 
of individual good or happiness, which might consist in a 
certain " equality " of things, or in " variety and vicissi- 
tude," or in both ; and he alludes to the controversy 
between Socrates and the Sophist, in which Socrates main- 
tained that happiness consisted in a constant peace of 
mind and tranquillity ; but the Sophist, that it consisted in 
having an appetite for much and in enjoying much. The 
Sophist said, that Socrates' happiness was that of " a post 
or a stone " (" stipitis vel lapidis ") 1 ; and Socrates, that the 
Sophist's happiness was that of a man that had the itch 
(" scabiosi"), who was perpetually itching and scratching; 
and this last breaks out, again, in another place, thus : — 

u 2Iarcius. What 's the matter, you dissentious rogues, 
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, 

Make yourselves scabs ? Who deserves greatness 

Deserves your hate ; and your affections are 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which would increase his evil." — Cor., Act I. Sc. 1. 

Jaques answers : — » 

"I have neither the Scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the 
Musician's, which is fantastical; nor the Courtier's, which is proud; nor 
the Soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the Lawyer's, which is politic; nor 
the Lady's, which is nice; nor the Lover's, which is all these: but it is a 
melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from 
many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in 
which my often rumination wraps me in a most humourous sadness. 

Jios. A traveller ! 

Jaq. Yes; I have gained my experience." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Very like the philosopher, who had found " the different 
characters of natures " omitted in " Morality and Policy," 
but thought there might be something of truth in the tradi- 
tions of astrology and the predominances of the planets : 
for, as we remember, " some are naturally formed for con- 

1 Be Aug., Lib. VII. ; (Boston), III. 24. 



THE AS YOU LIKE IT. 353 

templation, others for business, others for war, others for 
advancement of fortune, others for love, others for the arts, 
others for a varied kind of life " ; as had been represented 
among the poets, heroic, satiric, tragic, and comic. 

And a traveller he was, no doubt, this " Monsieur Trav- 
eller," through the universal variety, to whom, in his ele- 
vated station on the mountain top, the common affairs and 
most ordinary compliments of mankind below, were so sadly 
amusing, that, on the whole, they might even be compared 
to " the encounter of two dog-apes." Nevertheless, he had 
a fellow-feeling for the 

— "poor sequester'd stag, 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt," 

and came to languish by 

" the brook that brawls along this wood; . . . . . 

— and, indeed, my lord, 

The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, 
Much mark'd of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke, S. But what said Jaques? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle? 

1 Lord. 0, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 
1 Poor deer,' quoth he, ' thou mak'st a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which, had too much.'' Then, being there alone, 
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; 
l, T is right ',' quoth he ; ' this misery doth part 
The flux of company." 1 Anon, a careless herd, 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, ■ 
And never stays to greet him. ' Ay' quoth Jaques, 
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
' T is just the fashion : Wherefore do you look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there V 
Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court, 
Yea, and of this our life." — Act II. Sc. 1. 
23 



354 THE TIMON 0/ ATHENS. 

But the road, in this model, is to come out " even and 
level " at the end, being the one of " the two moral ways " 
of the old parable, beginning with ineertainty and difficulty 
and ending in plainness and certainty" (Valer. Term. ch. 
19) ; and so, all terminates in perfect smoothness by the 
skill of the great magician : — 

u Ros. I have promised to make all this matter even. 
Keep you your word, Duke, to give your daughter; — 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: — 
Keep you your word, Phebe, that you '11 marry me, 
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd: — 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you 'II marry her, 
If she refuse me : — and from hence I go, 
To make these doubts all even 

Hymen. Then is there mirth in Heaven, 
When earthly things made even 
Atone together." — Act. V. Sc. 4. 

At last, the usurping Duke 

" hath put on a religious life, 
And thrown into neglect the pompous Court. 

Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learned." — Act V. Sc. 4. 

This final disposition of the melancholy Jaques, whose 
prospect had become so sadly humorous and so serenely 
delightful, is in fair keeping with Bacon's vision of the 
highest state of things in the island of Bensalem, in the 
New Atlantis, on beholding which the Strangers, who had 
arrived there, imagined they saw before their eyes " a 
picture of their own salvation in heaven " ; and his betak- 
ing himself, at last, to " these convertites," and devoting 
himself to a religious life, may recall to mind what has been 
reported of one of the rarest and most humorously sad 
men of learning of our time, that now, in his later days, he 
finds his chiefest solace in the " Acta Sanctorum' 9 

§ 3. THE TIMON OF ATHENS — A MODEL. 

Of the " Timon of Athens," nothing appears to be known, 
until it was printed in the Folio of 1623. The story of 



THE TIMON" OF ATHENS. 355 

Timon was one of the traditional popular tales of ancient 
times. It is briefly alluded to, in Plutarch's Life of Antony ; 
but scarcely anything more than the circumstance of the 
inscription upon the tomb of Timon and the bare names of 
Alcibiades and Apemantus, which are not found in Lucian, 
appear to have been taken from Plutarch ; while the char- 
acter of Apemantus was evidently founded upon the 
Thrasycles of Lucian's dialogue. Shakespeare could have 
derived but little help from North's Plutarch, and Bacon 
was undoubtedly well acquainted with both Plutarch and 
Lucian in the original Greek. In the Essay of Goodness, 
he alludes to the anecdote of the tree as told in Plutarch, 
and speaks of M misanthropi, that make it their practice to 
bring men to the bough, and yet have never a tree for the 
purpose in their gardens, as Timon had." Plutarch refers 
to the comedies of Aristophanes and to Plato for the story 
of Timon ; but the larger part of the borrowed materials 
for this play was certainly drawn from Lucian. In Aris- 
tophanes, 1 as in Plato, there is no more than a bare allusion 
to the story. Bacon is known to have been familiar with 
these authors, neither of which had been translated (so far 
as known at this clay) until after the time of Shakespeare. 
The similitudes with his writings are most apparent in those 
parts of the story which vary from the account of Plutarch, 
or were not derived from him. The circumstance of Timon's 
finding great sums of gold, while digging with a spade, 
must have been taken from Lucian. It is pretty certain 
that the play never made any figure upon the stage, in the 
lifetime of Shakespeare, if indeed it had ever appeared at 
all before it w T as printed ; for there is no certain mention 
of it on record prior to that date. Yet it is one of the most 
masterly works of the great poet, not so much for display 
upon the stage, but as implying the largest wisdom, a 
matured experience, and a most profound philosophy of 
human life. Even on the supposition that the old play of 

1 Av<r«rrpany, 805-828. 



356 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

that name was an early sketch of this author, it would 
necessarily follow, that it had been taken up again at a 
later period of his life, and had been carefully re-written in 
the maturity of his powers. This play, more strongly than 
almost any other in the series, bears upon its face the im- 
press and character of Bacon's mind. It is even probable 
that, in respect of the sentiments and feeling exhibited in 
some parts of it, something may have been derived from 
the later experience and fortunes of his own life ; when he 
was himself a fallen lord, abandoned by troops of trencher- 
friends, yet attended by faithful stewards even in his worst 
misfortunes ; when he had gone to a cell, and become a 
cloistered friar in Gray's Inn, and was gathering up the 
wrecks and remnants of his ruined estates, but when he 
appeared in public, still showing a handsome equipage and 
a numerous retinue, " scorning to go out in a snuff," said 
Prince Charles, when he met him in full trim on the road ; 
when he had been fleeced (according to Mr. Meautys), first, 
of York House, and then of one valuable estate after 
another ; but to a proposal for the sale of his forest at 
Gorhambury, indignantly answering, " I will not be stript 
of my feathers," — like another Lear, insisting upon his full 
hundred, — 

" 0, reason not the need: our basest beggars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous ; 
Allow not nature more than nature needs; 
Man's life is cheap as beast's ; " — 

when he had himself become an experienced witness of the 
vanities of great place, the iniquities of " the yellow slave," 
gold, the hollowness of all outward show of worldly great- 
ness, and the essential worthlessness of all these to a great 
soul, as Lucian says : — " Nothing of all this being at all 
necessary to a good man and one able to see the wealth of 
philosophy" — ; and when he had become still more pro- 
foundly sensible of the dark clouds of error and superstition 
and all manner of false opinion and belief, which like that 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 357 

old incubus, " the brooding wing of Night," hung lowering 
as ever over society and all human affairs. He had been 
a learned critic in literature, a scientific student of nature, 
and a comprehensive and very profound philosopher, and 
he had now become a wise man, a seer, a prophet, and 
certainly one of the greatest of poets. 

Still bearing in mind w 7 hat has been said of these illus- 
trative examples, we shall have occasion, also, to remember 
that pattern of a natural story, and model of an institution 
"for the interpreting of nature, and the production of great 
and marvellous works for the benefit of men," in the New 
Atlantis. Solomon's House, which was instituted " for the 
finding out of the true nature of all things, whereby God 
might have the more glory in the workmanship of them," 
and which was to be " the noblest foundation that ever was 
upon the earth," and " the eye " and " the lantern of this 
kingdom," is introduced with an allusion to the poetical 
fable of " the inhabitants of the great Atlantis," who were 
" the descendants of Neptune," with their u magnificent 
temple, palace, city, and hill ; and the manifold streams of 
goodly navigable rivers, which, as so many chains, environed 
the same site and temple ; and the several degrees of 
ascent, whereby men did climb up the same, as if it had 
been a Scala Cceli." This island, moreover, was " a land 
of magicians." There was in it, too, " something super- 
natural, but yet rather as angelical than magical." And it 
is further said : " God surely is manifested in this land." 
Said the Strangers, on arriving there. " It seemed to us, 
that we were come into a land of angels." 

Let it be observed, also, that there was, in this island, 
u a most natural, pious, and reverend custom of the feast 
of the family," showing the nation to be " compounded of 
all goodness." The strangers who had arrived there, w r ent 
abroad to see u the city and places adjacent," and made 
the acquaintance of many " not of the meanest quality." 
The people were full of " piety and humanity," and for 



358 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

"chastity," this nation was " the virgin of the world." In 
their own country, " such humanity " was never seen. There 
was no "confusion" among this people. Their "manners 
and conditions" were well-ordered. Indeed, "if there be 
a mirrour of the world worthy to hold men's eyes, it is that 
country." It was granted to the father of a family of thirty 
persons, called the Tirsan, to make " a feast " at the cost 
of the state. He is assisted by " the governor," and also 
" taketh three of such friends as he liketh to choose." The 
persons of the family are summoned to attend. Two days 
the Tirsan sits in " consultation concerning the good estate 
of the family." Order is taken for the relief of the dis- 
tressed and decayed, and " competent means to live " are 
provided for them. Vice and ill-courses are censured. 
They have " no stews, no dissolute houses, no courtezans, 
nor anything of that kind." Direction is given " touching 
marriages." Marriage, " without consent of parents," they 
" mulct in the inheritors." There is not " such chastity in 
any people " : and they say, " That whosoever is unchaste 
cannot reverence himself" : and they say, " That the rev- 
erence of a man's self is, next religion, the chiefest bridle 
of all vices." The " orders and decrees" of the Tirsan are 
obeyed : " such reverence and obedience they give to the 
order of nature." 

At the feast, the Tirsan comes forth from divine service 
into " the large room where the feast is celebrated," and 
takes his chair of state on a raised " half-pace," at the upper 
end. All the lineage place themselves around " against the 
wall," and the room below the half-pace is full of company, 
"the friends of the family." On the sides are tables for the 
guests that are bidden. A herald takes in his hand a scroll, 
which is the king's charter containing gift of revenue, and 
many privileges, exemptions, and points of honor, directed 
" To such a one our well beloved friend and creditor." And 
there is an acclamation, " Happy are the people of Ben- 
salem ! " Toward the end of dinner, hymns of " excellent 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 359 

poesy " are sung ; and " dinner being done," the Tirsan 
calls out two of his " sons of eminent merit and virtue," 
and bestows on each " a jewel," which they ever after 
" wear in the front of their turban or hat." This done, 
" they fall to music and dances and other recreations." So 
much for the feast, which may be compared a little, below, 
with " the feast of Lord Timon." 

Now, turning to the play, the scene is " Athens ; and 
the woods adjoining." For, in this model, we are to emerge 
from the woods, again, to " the foot of the mountains," and 
thence, to ascend toward the height of things in " the com- 
monwealth of Athens " ; in which we shall see, also, " how 
the culture and cure of the mind of man" depend upon 
" points of nature " and i; points of fortune." * The first act 
opens with a scene, in which the poet, the painter, the 
merchant, the jeweller, and the philosopher, are brought 
upon the stage together, and the principal topic seems to 
be our very subject here, namely, " true art." Each one 
brings an offering of service to the great Lord Timon. In 
the beginning of the dialogue, the ideas and expressions 
which are used so forcibly call to mind, not only the teach- 
ings of Bacon on poesy, nature, and art, but also the man- 
ner and diction of the Dedication and Preface to the Folio 
of 1623, as to raise a strong suspicion, at least, that both 
were written by the same hand and at about the same time. 
Compare the sentences as follows : — 

"Act I. Sc. 1. Athens. A Hall in Timor's House. 

Poet. How goes the world ? 

Paint. It wears, sir, as it grows. 

Poet. Ay, that 's well known; 

But what particular rarety ? what strange, 
Which manifold record not matches ? 

[""Whilst we study to be thankful in our particular." — Ded.~\ 

Mer. 0, 'tis a worthy lord. 

Jew. Nay, that's most fix'4 

1 Adv. of Learn., Bk. II, 



360 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

Mer. A most incomparable man ; breath' d, as it were, 
gr To an untirabie and continuate goodness : — 

[" To the most noble and incomparable paire of brethren, and 

our singular good lords." — Bed. 

" A king of incomparable clemency, and whose heart is inscrutable for 
wisdom and goodness." — Submission.] 

Paint. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication 
To the great lord." 

[" And while we name them trifles, we have deprived ourselves of the 
defence of our dedication." — Bed.] 

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
From whence 't is nourished: The fire i' the flint 
Shews not, till it be struck; our gentle flame 
Provokes itself, and, like a current, flies 
Each bound it chafes. "What have you there? 

[" Country hands reach forth milke, creame, fruits, as what they have; 
and many Nations (we have heard) that had not gummes and incense, 
obtained their request with a leavened cake." — Bed. 

Lucian^s Timon reads : — 

"I come to bring you a new song of the lately-taught dithyrambics." 1 

"There were under the Law (excellent King) both daily sacrifices and 
free-will offerings." — Bed. of the Adv.] 

Paint. A picture, sir. And when comes your book forth? 
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
Let 's see your piece. 

[" It hath been the highest of our care, who are the Presenters, to make 
the present worth} 7 of your Highnesses by the perfection." — Bed. 

" In like manner there belongeth to kings from their servants both tribute 
of duty and presents of affection." — Bed. of the Adv.] 

Paint. 'T is a good piece. 

Poet. So 't is; this comes off well, and excellent. 

Paint. Indifferent. 

Poet. Admirable! How this grace 

Speaks his own standing; what a mental power 
This eye shoots forth; how big imagination 
Moves in this lip ; to the dumbness of the gesture 
One might interpret. 

[If he were a good " interpreter of nature " : and " if it be true that the 
principal part of beauty is in decent motion. 11 — Essay.] 

l Luciani Opera (Tauchnitz, Lipsise, 1858,) I. 30. 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 361 

Paint It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
Here is a touch ; Is 't good ? 

Poet. I '11 say of it, 

It tutors nature: artificial strife 
Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 

[ — "(for I must ascribe your commendation to affection, being above my 
merit,) as I must do contrary to that that painters do; for they desire to 
make the picture to the life, and I must endeavour to make the life to the 
picture." — Letter, 1619. 

— "as if art were some different thing from nature, and artificial from 
natural." — Adv. 

" But because there be so many good painters, both for hand and colours, 
it needeth but encouragement and instructions to give life unto it" — 
Letter to Chan. 

— " TVho, as he was a happie imitator of nature, was a most gentle ex- 
presser of it." — Ded.] 

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! " 

There are some indications in this play that the " gentle 
Apemantus/' under the covert garb of a " churlish philos- 
opher," was rather intended to speak, under cover, for the 
" gentle Shakespeare " himself. " What Shakespeare's 
thoughts on God, Nature, and Art, would have been," says 
Carlyle, " especially had he lived to number fourscore 
years, were curious to know." Most certainly so ; but, 
in the course of this play, assuredly, something may be 
gathered, by close inspection, as to what were the ideas 
of the author on some points in art and philosophy ; and 
they seem to have a remarkable agreement, in respect of 
some particulars of idea and expression, with Bacon's 
notions on the subject, as may be seen in this passage from 
the Essay of Beauty (1612) : — 

" In beauty, that of favour is more than that of colour ; 
and that of decent and gracious motion more than that of 
favour. That is the best part of beauty, which a picture 
cannot express ; nor the first sight of life. There is no 
excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the 
proportion. A man cannot tell whether Apelles or Al- 
bert Durer were the more trifler ; whereof the one would 



362 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

make a personage by geometrical proportions ; the other, 
by taking the best parts out of divers faces to make one 
excellent. Such personages, I think, would please nobody 
but the painter that made them. Not but I think a painter 
may make a better face than ever was ; but he must do it 
by a kind of felicity (as a musician that maketh an excel- 
lent air in music), and not by rule. A man shall see faces, 
that if you examine them part by part, you shall find never 
a good ; and yet altogether do well. If it be true that the 
principal part of beauty is in decent motion, certainly it is 
no marvel though persons in years seem many times more 
amiable." 

Understanding that Apemantus contemplated the uni- 
verse, as it is herein supposed that Bacon himself did, as 
the actual thought of a Creative Thinker, and as essentially 
and to the very bottom Artist-Mind work, and that the 
highest beauty is in life and motion, there may be dis- 
covered in this scene a profound opinion of the true nature 
of the highest art : — 

" Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? 
Apem. The best, for the innocence. 
Tim. Wrought he not 'well, that painted it? 
Apem. He wrought better that made the painter ; 
And yet he 's but a filthy piece of work." — Act I. Sc. 1. 

This remark, apparently so very cynical, and perhaps 
intended so to appear on the surface, may find a deeper 
interpretation by the light of another very cynical philoso- 
pher : " Do you think those who make senseless and mo- 
tionless statues are more to be wondered at than those who 
make active and intelligent living animals ? No, by Ju- 
piter ; since these are made, not by chance, but by intel- 
lect." * Other poets followed the " customary fashion " and 
men's opinions : he followed the order of divine provi- 
dence, the truth of nature, that true art which is always 
capable of advancing, and his own opinions : — - 

1 Xen. Mem. Socratis, Lib. I. c. 4. 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 363 

"Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labor : he that 
woves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! " 

Here, too, is his opinion of the mere man of traffic : — 

" Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods do not ! 
Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. 
Apem. Traffic 's thy god, and thy god confound thee ! " 

This merchant may remind us of the merchant Jew in 
the New Atlantis, with this difference, that, here, it is the 
man whose god is traffic, but there, it is u the good Jew." 

The play continues thus : — 

11 Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? 
Apem. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. 
Tim. What dost thou think 't is worth ? 
Apem, Not worth my thinking." — Act I. Sc. 1. 

Timon has not yet emerged from those mines and caves, 
where gold and jewels are the chief treasure. Apemantus 
would seem to have reached the uppermost elevations of 
nature and those " tops of mountains," where the serenity 
of his contemplations was not to be disturbed by any con- 
sideration of such low things. And here, again, we have 
this philosopher's judgment on ostentatious piety and 
prayer : — 

" Apem. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; 
I pray for no man but myself." 

To some, this might appear to be in the highest degree 
impious, as Timon thought another saying of the churlish 
philosopher to be " a lascivious apprehension"; to which 
Apemantus replies : — 

" So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labour." 

Or, by possibility, it might put them in mind of another 
more modern philosopher, likewise suspected of being 
somewhat cynical, who seems to have apprehended many 
things differently from the common way ; for, being of the 
same opinion, doubtless, that this author was, when he made 
the Duke in the disguise of " power divine " say, " there is 
so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must 



364 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

cure it," so he says : " There is no odor so bad as that 
which arises from goodness tainted. If I knew for a cer- 
tainty that a man was coming to my house with the con- 
scious design of doing me good, I should run for my life." * 
So Apemantus seems to have thought a man had enough 
to do to pray for himself; and perhaps, also, he had that 
reverence for himself, w T hich is, " next religion, the chiefest 
bridle of all vices," and such chastity as was never seen 
anywhere else than in the island of Bensalem. 

All this is made subservient to the introduction of the 
main subject of the play, the character of Lord Timon and 
the changes of fortune, which the poet is made to an- 
nounce as the subject of that very work which he had 
come to dedicate to the great lord ; as if the author himself 
would speak in character. And we may say of this piece 
as the poet said to the picture, — 

— "to the dumbness of the gesture, 
One might interpret." 

It is announced thus : — 

"Poet. I have in this rough work shap'd out a man, 
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
With amplest entertainment 

Paint. How shall I understand you ? 

Poet I '11 unbolt to you. 

You see how all conditions, how all minds 
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as 
Of grave and austere quality) tender down 
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune, 
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, 
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
All sorts of hearts ; — 
[" A noble man and of much worth," says Lucian.] 

— yea from the glass-fae'd flatterer 
To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
Than to. abhor himself: even he drops down 
The knee before him, and returns in peace 
Most rich in Timon's nod." — Act J. Be. 1. 

There is to be some t; steep and rough " work in the 

i Thoreau's Walden, 80. 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 865 

woods among " thorns and briers," not levelled particularly ; 
but a survey is to be taken of " all conditions w ; and even 
Apemantus is constrained to drop the knee before the 
great lord, as did the other philosopher, who said : " I come 
with my pitcher to Jacob's well as others do." 
The poet continues : — 

" Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, 
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: the base o' the mount 
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinds of natures, — 

[that is to say, all " characters of natures and dispositions," 
hitherto too much omitted in Morality and Policy,] — 

That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
To propagate their states : amongst them all, 
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady rix'd, 
One do I personate of Lord Timon*s frame; 
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; 
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 
Translates his rivals. 

Paint. 'T is conceiv'd to scope. 
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 
With one man beckon'd from the rest below, 
Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
To climb his Imppiness, would be well express'd 
In our condition 

Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood, 
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants, 
Which laboured after him to the mountahrs top, 
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, 
Not one accompanying his declining foot. 

Paint. 'T is common: 

A thousand moral paintings I can show 
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune, 
More pregnantly than words." 

Surely, this " high and pleasant hill," this " steepy 
mount," ranked with all deserts and all kinds of natures at 
the base, and " this mountain's top," which all that labor on 
the bosom of this sphere seek to climb in search of happi- 
ness, can be no other than that same hill of the Muses, 
and those " tops of mountains," which the traveller, on " the 
steep and rough/' or " the even and level," road of active 



366 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

life, was to "climb by regular succession, with persevering 
and indefatigable patience," and by the " several degrees 
of ascent, as if it had been a Scala Cceli," before he should 
reach a serene station on the height of things ; and these 
" paths of contemplation," placed thus visibly before the 
eyes in a kind of representative speaking picture, exhibit- 
ing " the whole process of the mind and the continuous 
frame and order of discovery" in the given subject, may 
be taken as an example of the new method, which those 
" types and models " were to illustrate ; and this is that use 
of poetry that " tendeth to demonstrate and illustrate that 
which is taught or delivered," as by " a thousand moral 
paintings." 

Timon was not one of those who had reached the moun- 
tain's top, but only " a more disengaged and arduous 
station " towards the foot, and was still bowing his head 
against the steepy mount But the poet himself had at- 
tained that uppermost elevation, and was able to look down 
upon him from that high cliff and platform, which is more 
amply sketched in the Essay of Truth, thus : — 

" The poet that beautified the sect that was otherwise 
inferior to the rest, saith yet excellently well : ' It is a plea- 
sure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the 
sea ; a pleasure to stand hi the window of a castle, and to see 
a battle and the adventures thereof below : but no pleasure is 
comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of Truth, 
(a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always 
clear and serene,) and to see the errors and wanderings, and 
mists, and tempests, in the vale below ' ; so always that this 
prospect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride." And 
so that it be done by a Solomon of the New Atlantis, who 
wears " an aspect as if he pitied men." 

The scene next shifts upon the marriage of the old 
Athenian's daughter, a fair maid, bred " in qualities of the 
best " ; and Lord Timon, like the Tirsan, takes due care 
that it shall be a chaste marriage, with due consent of 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 367 

parents, and ample provision is made for Lucilius " to build 
his fortune" and make him "an equal husband"; all which 
has a certain close resemblance to the manner of proceed- 
ing in the island of Bensalem, where, also, there were 
many, " not of the meanest quality." 

Next comes the feast, which is such a feast as could be 
given by the Lord Timon in the commonwealth of Athens, 
rather than exactly a u feast of the family " of the Tirsan ; 
but in many traits, they exhibit a near relationship of the 
one to the other. Humanity is a leading topic in both : — 

" 2 Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast. 

Apem. Ay; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat fools 

1 Lord. He 's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, 
And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes 

The very heart of kindness. 

2 Lord. He pours it out ; Plutus, the god of gold, 
Is but his steward 

1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries, 

That ever govern'd man." — Act L. Sc. 1. 

Timon addresses his company of friends in a strain and 
temper worthy of that "divine instrument," the "governor" 
of the society and brotherhood of Solomon's House, Ape- 
mantus (one chosen from amongst the rest " to live in the 
house with him," like " the Son of the Vine " in the New 
Atlantis.) having a table by himself at one side " against 
the wall," thus : — 

" 0, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided 
that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else? 
why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly 

belong to my heart? 0, you gods, think I, what need we have 

any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most need- 
less creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em: and would most 
resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to 

themselves "We are born to do benefits ; and what better or properer 

can we call our own than the riches of our friends? 0, what a precious 
comfort 'tis, to have so many like brothers, commanding one another's 
fortunes! " — Act I. Sc. 2. 

Here we may note a slight resemblance to the language 
of the New Atlantis ; for in Solomon's House there were 



368 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

to be " divers instruments of music, sweeter than any you 
have " and " bells and rings that are dainty and sweet." 

The feast being over, Cupid enters with " a masque of 
ladies," and the entertainment ends with music and danc- 
ing, much after the manner of the Tirsan's feast. And 
the whole is closed, in like manner, with a gift of jewels, 
thus : — 

" Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 

Flav. Yes, my lord. [Aside.] More jewels yet! 

Tim 0, my friends ! 

I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord, 

I must entreat you, honour me so much, 

As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, 

Kind my lord." 



"Apem. No, I '11 nothing; for if I should be brib'd, too, there would be 

none left to rail upon thee, and then thou would'st sin the faster 

What needs these feasts, pomps, and vain glories? 

Tim. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give 

regard to you 

Apem. So ; — thou wilt not hear me now ; — thou shalt not then. I '11 
lock thy Heaven from thee. 

0, that men's ears should be 

To counsel deaf, but not to flattery I " — Act 1. Sc. 2. 

The Tirsan's feast was a feast of " consultation " and 
counsel ; Timon's, a feast of flattery ; in which Apemantus, 
however, had " the liberty of a friend," according to what 
is said in the Essay of Friendship : " So, as there is much 
difference between the counsel that a friend giveth, and 
that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel 
of a friend and a flatterer ; for there is no such flatterer as 
a man's self, and there is no such remedy against flattery 
of a man's self as the liberty of a friend." 

There are some further traces of the New Atlantis in 
the third act, and particularly in Timon's second feast. 
Without dwelling upon the faithful steward, Flavins, the 
" one honest man," who, like Bacon's own faithful steward 
and secretary, Meautys, never deserted him, let us stop only 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 369 

to observe, that in the second scene Lucius enters with 
"three strangers." In the New Atlantis, much is said of 
the mode of entertaining strangers in that island and of the 
" Stranger's House," in which all the sick were treated with 
such " rare humanity " and success, that they thought them- 
selves " cast into some divine pool of healing." The same 
subject recurs, at the end of the first scene, with a some- 
what different application, the opposite view of humanity 
being exhibited in the play, thus : — 

"Flam. 0, may diseases only work upon 't! 
And when lie is sick to death, let not that part of nature, 
"Which my lord paid for, be of an}- power 
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! " — Act III. Sc 2. 

And when the strangers offered to pay for the many 
favours which had left them " confused with joy and kind- 
ness," the answer was : " What, twice paid ! " for they called 
him " that taketh rewards twice-paid." So Apemantus con- 
sidered Timon's bounty to his friends as mere bribery ; but 
he would not himself be " brib'd too." Furthermore, one 
of these "three strangers" would almost seem to have 
been acquainted with the father Tirsan, when he speaks 
thus : — 

" 1 Str. Why this 
Is the world's soul; and just of the same piece 
Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
His friend, that dips in the same dish V for in 
My knowing, Tim on has been this lord's father, 
And kept his credit with his purse, 
Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money 
Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks 
But Timon's silver treads upon his lips; — 

["having oftentimes drank whole cups with me," says Lucian.] 

3 Str. Religion groans at it. 

1 Str But I perceive, 

Men must learn now with pity to dispense : 

For policy sits above conscience." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

The Tirsan's feast was in some sort a public one, and 
was made at the cost of the state ; and it was attended by 

24 



370 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

the governor. The same idea recurs in Timon's welcome 
to his friends at the feast of covered dishes : — 

"Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon 

the first place You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 

thankfulness." 

These were not the " wise men of the Society of Solomon's 
House," but Timon's curse upon them savors strongly of 
the " Stranger's House," and of the healing of the sick 
therein, though in quite the opposite manner, thus : — 

" Tim. This is Timon's last; 

"Who, stuck and spangled you with flatteries, 
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 

[ Throwing ivater in their faces* 
Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd, and long, 
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, 
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears; 
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, 
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks ! 

[" Again therefore I depart, and will deliver you up to parasites and flat- 
terers and courtezans; — . . . rewarding you as flatterers and wolves/* 
reads Lucian.] 

Of man and beast the infinite malady 

Crust you quite o'er! — what, dost thou go? 

Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou. — 

[ Throws the dishes at them, 

Henceforth, be no feast, 

Whereat a villain 's not a welcome guest. 
Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be 
Of Timon, man and all humanity." 

[" For I will hate all gods and men at once," Timon says, in Lucian.] 

And at the close of the scene, the lord, who had advanced 
the jewel to his " turban or hat" (as it appears) as in the 
New Atlantis, speaks thus : — 

" 3 Lord. He gave me a jewel the other day, and now he has beat it out 
of my hat : — Did you see my jewel ? " — Act 111. Sc. 6. 

Here, let it be noted, also, that, in the Advancement, 
Bacon speaks of " the gross and palpable flattery, whereunto 
many not unlearned have abased and abused their wits and 



THE XIMON OF ATHENS. 371 

pens," and of " those trencher-philosophers, which in the 
later age of the Roman State were usually in the houses 
of great persons, being little better than solemn parasites ; 
of which kind Lucian maketh a merry description " ; and 
this is certainly decisive evidence that Bacon as well as the 
author of the play had studied Lucian. 

In Timon we have the man, who, having traversed the 
woodlands of nature, and emerged into the more disengaged 
but more arduous paths of contemplation, pursues that 
branch of the double road of active life, which is at first 
" even and level," but conducts to " places precipitous and 
impassable." In Apemantus, on the other hand, is repre- 
sented the man, who rather chooses the way which is ; * steep 
and rough at the entrance," but with certain " fixed princi- 
ples " and " indefatigable patience," enduring to suspend his 
judgment, will mount gradually, and " climb by regular 
succession " the height of things in the commonwealth of 
Athens. Timon, having met with a precipitous fall, takes 
back to the region of thorns and briers, " without the walls 
of Athens," breaking forth in a terrible outburst of wrath 
upon the u confusions " of society, thus : — 

" Piety and fear, 
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
Domestic awe, night rest, and neighborhood, 
Instruction, manners, mysteries, trades, 
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
Decline to your confounding contraries, 
And let confusion live ! " — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Confusion is a favorite idea and word with this writer. 
" Is there any such happiness," says Bacon, " as for a man's 
mind to be raised above the confusion of things, where he 
may have a prospect of the order of nature and the errors 
of men ? " and again, " as nothing doth derogate from the 
dignity of a state more than confusion of degrees." And 
Timon says again, " Would'st thou have thyself fall in the 
confusion of men ? " He concludes his diatribe on society 



872 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

with this desperate resolution : " Timon will to the woods ! " 

But, in Lucian, " he only leaves the city in disgust, and 

works for hire on a farm, brooding darkly over his evils." 

The third scene opens in "the woods." Timon is in close 

communion with physical nature. Among thorns and briers, 

the path is far from being even and level, or straight and 

smooth : — 

" Tim. All is oblique; 

There 's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
But direct villainy." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" By reason of the ways of nature being partly straight, 
and partly oblique," says the De Augmentis ; and the ex- 
pression seems to have been borrowed from Sophocles : — 

Kpeoov. . . . iravTa yap 

Ae'xpta. — Antigone, 1344-5. 

He digs for roots and finds gold. While cutting up roots, 
he throws up treasure with his spade, "digging, I think, 
where it had been buried," says Lucian. He prefers roots, 
but will take " some gold " for his purposes : — 

" Tim. " Earth, yield me roots ! . . . [Digging. 

I am misanthropes, and hate mankind." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" And let Misanthropos be the most agreeable name," says 
Timon in Lucian. 

The first to present himself is " Captain Alcibiades with 
his women." There was no war in Bensalem ; but mention 
is made of a holy hermit to whom " the spirit of fornication " 
appeared as " a little foul ugly ^Ethiop " ; but " the spirit 
of chastity " is described u in the likeness of a fair beautiful 
cherubin." Timon addresses Alcibiades, thus : — 

" Follow thy drum ; 
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: 
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
For all her cherubin look." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

In the New Atlantis, " the scroll was signed with a stamp 
of.cherubin's wings." 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 373 

While yet digging the earth in the woods of nature, his 
pride unsubdued, he is made to utter forth that fine view 
of all-producing Nature, which might certainly have been 
inspired by the Second Philosophy : — 

" Common mother, thou, 
Whose womb immeasurable, and infinite breast, 
Teems, and feeds ad: whose self-same mettle, 
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, 
Engenders the black toad and adder blue. 
The gilded newt and eyeless venoufd worm, 
With all th" abhor' d births below crisp heaven 
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine, 
Yield him, who all the human sons doth hate, 
From forth thy plenteous bo-om, one poor root! 
Ensear thy fertile and conceptions womb; 
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! 
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears: 
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
Never presented ! — 0, a root. — dear thanks ! 
Dry up thy marrowy vines, and plough-torn leas; 
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, 
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
That from it all consideration slips." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

Next appears Apemantus. who complains, that 

Thou dost 2 

But he tells him, 

" This is in thee a nature but infected; 
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? 

[" What a change ! . . . bearing thus this heavy spade," says Lucian.] 

Shame not these woods, 
By putting on the cunning of a carper, 

'T is most just 

That thou turn rascal: had'st thou wealth again, 
Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness." 

Apemantus teaches him that he is " a madman" to ex- 
pect relief for his miseries in these " woods,'* which 

" To the conflicting elements exposed, 
Answer mere nature." 



" Men report, 
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them." 



874 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

For no help is to be had there : — 

" Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
To castigate thy pride, 't were well." 

But the lesson, which this philosopher, who had come to 
understand things as they are in themselves, and took them 
for just what they were, no more, no less, himself having 
reached the serene and delightful station on the height of 
things, whence he could look down, " with pity, and not 
with swelling or pride," had to give this proud misanthrope, 
that never knew " the middle of humanity," but only " the 
extremity of both ends," and that therefore, in his death, 
" all living men did hate," was this : — 

" Apem. Willing miseiy 

Outlives incertain pomp, is crow T n'd before : 
The one is filling still, never complete, 
The other, at high wish : best state, contentless, 
Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
Worse than the worst, content. 
Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable." — Act IV. Sc, 3. 

Timon is furnished from " the woodlands " of nature with 
a certain rude imagery corresponding to the crude percep- 
tion which he had come to have of that necessary " differ- 
ence of degrees," which is discoverable everywhere, and he 
launches into a discourse on the comparative evils of con- 
flicting qualities in natures, as of the lion,- the fox, the ass, 
the wolf, the leopard, and the rest, concluding that, " all 
thy safety were remotion ; and thy defence, absence" : — 

cl Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to me, thou might'st 
have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of 
beasts." 

It was not so, in "the feigned commonwealth" of the 
island of Bensalem, of which the governor was a man 
"comely of person, and had an aspect as if he pitied men," 
and in which, reverence and obedience were given to "the 
order of nature." Of such a man as Apemantus, or the 
Governor of Solomon's House, this Timon had never any 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 375 

just conception, and they ended as such men are apt to do, 
in all cases, by calling each other hard names : — 

" Apem. Beast! 

Tim. Slave ! 

Apem. Toad ! 

Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue!" 

" Sick of this false world," Timon would love naught 

" But even the mere necessities upon 't." 

He retires to his " cave," taking with him his gold, the 

" visible god, 
That solder'st close impossibilities 
And mak'st them kiss," 

finding in his natural philosophy of the mere necessities of 
nature, that the sun, the moon, the sea, the earth, 

" each thing 's a thief; — 
and ie advises all thieves, thus : — 

" Steal not less, for this 
I gve you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! " — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

Thr cave scene, like the rest shows some traces of the 
Solomqi's House of the New Atlantis ; for there were to 
be therein certain " large and deep mines and caves, digged 
under geat hills and mountains," which were to be called 
" the lo\er region," and were to be used for u the imitation 
of na 1 unl mines and the producing of new and artificial 
metaL." In some of them, " hermits," that chose to live 
there were to be well accommodated with all things neces- 
sary, and indeed live very long." But in the play, the 
poetsmd painters, who had turned " alchemysts," to make 
gold, T ere summarily driven out of the presence even of 
Timoi 

Foia commonwealth of Athens become a forest of beasts, 
Timorhad no remedy to propose, but dire and utter destruc- 
tion ; ad, indeed, the poet himself would seem to have had 
no othr than " Alcibiades and the Forces " : — 

" Tim. Come not to me again ; but say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 



376 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; 

Who, once a day with his emboss'd froth, 

The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, 

And let my grave-stone be your oracle." — Act V. Sc. 2. 

This poet was able to make good interpretation and use 
of the ancient fable of Timon, Misantkropos, taking care to 
follow the story of Lucian, in having him 

" Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea " ; — 

that metaphysical and mysterious line, which serves as wef 
to bound the horizon of time out of the great ocean a 
eternity, as to mark the limit of the ascent of " the steery 
mount " toward the angelical supernatural heights of thiigs 
in the everlasting mansions beyond. And Alcibiades at 
the head of repentant Athens, should be able to see tms 
much of thee, Timon : — 

" yet rich conceit 
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
On thy low grave on faults forgiven. Dead 
Is noble Timon; of whose memory 
Hereafter more." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

Again, Bacon, when his fall came, induced by tie per- 
suasion of Buckingham and the King, if not commaded by 
some more forcible appeal, or, perhaps, foreseeing hat his 
only hope was in the King, made a general eonfesion and 
submission to the House of Lords, with the exjectation 
that they would weigh his fault in a liberal spirit, xnc pass 
it over with some slight censure only, — that they iould 
be content to deprive him of the seals, and, sparing : any 
further sentence," would recommend him to " his majsty's 
grace and pardon." Protesting he had not " the fontain 
of a corrupt heart, in a depraved habit of taking r^ards 
to pervert justice," howsoever he might " be frail an par- 
take of the abuses of the times," he nobly resolved nt " to 
trick up an innocency by cavillations," but to make clear 
confession of the facts as they were, being willing tht they 
should speak for themselves and himself, and sc threw 
himself upon the magnanimity of the British Sena: ; and 



THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 377 

in that submission, he invoked the example of Quintus 
Maximus : " who being upon the point to be sentenced, by 
the intercession of some principal persons of the Senate, 
was spared" ; in which " the discipline of war was no less 
established by the questioning of Quintus Maximus, than 
by the punishment of Titus Manlius." But the Lords would 
not relent : a victim was demanded. In like manner, in 
this play, Alcibiades, a principal senator, becomes " an 
humble suitor " to the " virtues " of the Athenian Senate 
for the pardon of a friend of his, who had 

" stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
To those that without heed do plunge into 't. 
He is a man, setting his fate aside, 
Of comely virtues : 

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice; 
(An honour in him which buys out his fault) 
But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, 
Seeing his reputation touch' d to death, 
He did oppose his foe 

1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear: 
To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 

Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, 
If I speak like a captain : — 

and after pleading the soldier's valor and noble spirit in 
extenuation of his offence, he declares the felon, 

Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge, 

If wisdom be in suffering. 0, my lords' 

As you are great, be pitifully good. 

.... In vain V his service done 

At Lacedaemon and Byzantium 

Were a sufficient briber for his life. . . . 

2 Sen. He hath been known to commit outrages, 
And cherish factions. 'T is inferr'd to us, 

His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 

1 Sen. He dies. 

Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
My lords, if not for any parts in him, 
Though his right arm might purchase his own time, 
And be in debt to none, yet, more to move you, 
Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: . . . 
If by this crime he owes the law his life, 
Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore; 



878 THE TIMON OF ATHENS. 

The law is strict, and war is nothing more. . . . 

1 Sen. We are for law: he dies; urge it no more, 
On height of our displeasure. . . . 

Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 

2 Sen. What! 
Alcib. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; 

It could not else be, I should prove so base, 
To sue, and be deni'd such common grace. 
My wounds ache at you. 

1 Sen. Do you dare our anger? 

'T is in but few words, but spacious in effect: 
We banish thee forever. 

Akib. Banish me! 

Banish your dotage, banish usury, 
That makes the Senate ugly. 

1 Sen. If, after two days 1 shine Athens contain thee, 
Attend our weightier judgment. . . . 

Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; that you may liva 
Only in bone, that none may look on you! . . . 

Banishment! 

It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd: 

It is 9. cause worthy my spleen and fury, 

That I may strike at Athens."— Act III. Sc. 5. 

There is nothing here, perhaps, that can be specially 
noted, nrore than the allusion to "the discipline of war" as 
in Bacon's " Submission," which is certainly not a little 
remarkable, together with the general tenor of the ideas 
and sentiment, especially if they can be considered as hav- 
ing been imparted to this play, after his own fall and ban- 
ishment from London. At any rate, it may be truly said 
of himself, that his own banishment came not ill; for be- 
sides that he had struck, it is true that he continued to 
strike, at Athens, in a way scarcely to be dreamed of in 
Athens itself for a long time to come ; nor felt otherwise 
than as the blows travelled along down and transverberated 
the ages as they rolled up, with scarcely diminishing force 
of vibration, and so to continue until they shall be lost, 
if ever, in the deeper concussions of still more powerful 
strokes ; and every vibration still sweeps some part of the 
old Athens into oblivion and mere fossil bone. 



CHAPTER VI. 

PHILOSOPHICAL EVIDENCES. 

" God hath framed the mind of man as a mirrour or glass, capable of the image 
of the universal world." — Bacon. 

§ 1. BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

Francis Bacon had surveyed with the eye of a master 
the whole field of the Greek Philosophy, and had carried 
his studies, beyond almost any other of his time and country, 
i'nto the deepest profundities of human thought. Standing 
where Plato stood, long before him, and Des Cartes and 
Leibnitz, immediately after him, essentially, on the solid 
platform of fact and universal method, he endeavored to 
instaurate, revive, and renew the higher philosophy as well 
as physical science. He attempted, not without great effect, 
to organize the experimental and inductive method of in- 
quiry and a true method of interpreting Nature, and urged 
them upon the consideration of the world of science as the 
best, if not the only, means of obtaining that broad and 
sure " foundation " in observed and ascertained fact, on 
which alone he considered it possible to raise, in an 
adequate manner, the eternal superstructure of philosophy 
itself, which he was also undertaking, as the chiefest con- 
cern, to erect and constitute, or at least to initiate ; and to 
this end, he would begin at the fountain head, and constitute 
one Universal Science as the science of sciences and mother 
of all the rest, which was to be as the trunk to the branches 
of the tree. This science he called Philosophia Prima, or 
indeed " Sapience," which had been '!■ anciently defined as 
the knowledge of all things divine and human " : — 



380 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

" What may be sworn by, both divine and human, 
Seal what I end withal." — Cor., Act III. Sc. 1. 

He was not a man of physics merely, but understood 
metaphysics to be one part even of natural philosophy, in 
theory necessarily preceding physics, and in time and prac- 
tice necessarily following on physics, the other part, u as a 
branch or descendant of natural science," 1 and as afford- 
ing the only safe passage into that Summary or Higher 
Philosophy, which he recognized as reigning supreme over 
sciences as " the parent or common ancestor to all knowl- 
edge." He divided all philosophy into three divisions, con- 
cerning God, Nature, and Man ; and he said there was 
a " three-fold ray of things ; for Nature strikes the intellect 
by a direct ray ; but God, by a ray refracted, by reason of 
the unequal medium (the creation) ; and Man as shown 
and exhibited to himself, by a ray reflected." 2 He seemed 
also, in accordance with the ideas and spirit of that age, in 
some measure to admit " Divinity or Inspired Theology," 
resting on Scriptural authority, as a department of inquiry 
distinct from philosophy; and he spoke of divinity as u the 
book of God's word," and of philosophy as " the book of 
God's works." " Physique," says he, " inquireth and hnnd- 
leth the material and efficient causes; and the other, which 
is Metaphysique, bandleth the formal and final causes, that 
which supposes in nature a reason, understanding, and 
platform " ; that is to say, something like the j/ous or intel- 
lect of Anaxagoras and Plato. And again he says, " let the 
investigation of forms, which (in reasoning at least and 
after their own laws) are eternal and immutable, constitute 
metaphysics, and let the investigation of the efficient cause 
of matter, latent process, and latent conformation (which 
all relate merely to the ordinary course of nature, and not 
to the eternal and fundamental laws) constitute physics." 8 

1 Adv. of Learn., Works (Mont.), II. 134 

2 De Aug. Scient., L. III. c. 1. 

3 Nov. Org., II. § 9. 



BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 381 

He was able to see through physics into metaphysics, and 
he drew the line between them distinctly enough. Since 
the giant Kant grappled with these ki forms " or laws of 
the understanding or reason, and began to make a clearer 
opening into the true nature of Time and Space, his students 
and successors, more profoundly penetrating the subject, 
and, especially, Cousin, more thoroughly studying the critical 
method of scientific thinking taught by Plato, in a masterly 
elimination of the errors of Locke and Kant, have con- 
tributed much toward making Kant's " narrow foot-path " 
to be in truth " a high road of thought " ; and since all 
together have still further cleared up these "fundamental 
and eternal laws " of all thinking, divine or human, it has 
become easier for others to grasp the profound conceptions 
of Bacon, which, however obscurely expressed, were never- 
theless distinctly defined in the vast comprehension of his 
mighty intellect. " It is best," he says, " to consider matter, 
its conformation, and the changes of that conformation, its 
own action, and the laws of this action or motion ; for forms 
are a mere fiction of the human mind, unless you will call 
the laws of action by that name." x That he referred these 
laws of action to the one thinking substance or essence, 
" the Mind of Nature," and considered them as eternal and 
immutable laws of the Divine Mind, thinking a universe, 
if a little uncertain here, is made plain enough in other 
parts of his writings. He says again : " Those which refer 
all things to the glory of God are as the three acclamations : 
Sancte ! Sancte ! Sancte ! holy in the description or dilata- 
tion of his works ; holy in the connection or concatenation 
of them ; and holy in the union of them in a perpetual and 
uniform law. And therefore the speculation was excellent 
in Parmenides and Plato, although but a speculation in 
them, that all things by scale did ascend to unity " : in him- 
self, it was an absolute belief, and in this author's Malcolm 

1 Nov. Org., I. § 51. 



382 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

declining to be King, we may discover some inverse and 
oblique appreciation of the same doctrine : — - 

" Nay, had I power, I should 
Pour the sweet milk of concord into Hell, 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on Earth." — Mack, Act IV. Sc. 3. 

And so, " in the entrance of philosophy," he continues, 
" when the second causes, which are next unto the senses, 
do offer themselves to the mind of man, if it dwell and stay 
there, it may induce some oblivion of the highest cause ; 
but when a man passeth on further, and seeth the depend- 
ence of causes, and the works of Providence, then, accord- 
ing to the allegory of the poets, he will easily believe that 
the hiohest link of nature's chain must needs be tied to the 
foot of Jupiter's chair." The same doctrine is more dis- 
tinctly expressed in his interpretation of the fable of Pan, 
thus : — 

" The Horns represent the world as broader below, but 
sharp at the vertex. For the whole of nature is pointed 
like a pyramid. Inasmuch as the individual things, in 
which the basis of nature is extended, are infinite ; these 
are gathered into species which are themselves manifold ; 
species again rise into genera, and these also in ascending 
are contracted more and more into generals ; so that, at 
length, nature appears to pass into unity ; which is the 
signification of that pyramidal figure of Pan's horns. In- 
deed, it is no wonder that the horns of Pan even touch 
the heavens ; since the highest parts of nature, or universal 
ideas, do in a certain manner pertain to divine things. 
Therefore, that chain (of natural causes), which Homer 
sung, is said to be fastened to the foot of Jupiter's throne ; 
and every one (as it would seem), who has withdrawn his 
mind for a while from particulars and the flow of things, 
and treated of metaphysic and the eternal and immutable 
in nature, has at once fallen into Natural Theology ; so near 



BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 383 

and ready is the transition from that top of the pyramid to 
things divine." * 

To his Summary Philosophy he had assigned the " prin- 
ciples and axioms " which were common to the several sci- 
ences, and fc ' likewise the inquiry touching the operation of 
the relative and adventitious characters of essences, as quan- 
tity, similitude, diversity, possibility and the rest " (which, 
he said, might be called " Transcendental "), as being the 
common ancestor to all knowledge ; but to Metaphysic, the 
inquiry of the formal and final causes, as being the descend- 
ant of natural science ; whence it would seem that the 
two, so far as different, stood, in his scheme, in the relation 
to one another of the beginning to tl;e end, which was to be 
philosophy itself, when the wheel should come full circle. 
But these matters were to be " handled as they have 
efficacy in nature, and not logically " ; that is, as they really 
exist and operate in nature, and not syllogistically only, as 
if a world could be made out of categories ; for it was man- 
ifest to him " that Plato, as one that had a wit of elevation 
situate as upon a cliff, did descry, That forms [laws] were 
the true object of knowledge, but lost the real fruit of his opinion 
by considering of forms as absolutely abstracted from matter 
and not confined and determined by matter, and so turning his 
opinion upon theology, wherewith all his natural philosophy 
is infected" 2 Here, in respect of forms abstracted from 
matter, and not determined by matter, there is probably 
some misconception of Plato's doctrine, though in accord- 
ance with some received interpretations of his philosophy ; 
and this seems to have been the great error of Kant ; but 
Bacon knew that " there was no small difference between 
the idols of the human mind, and the ideas of the divine 
mind, that is to say, between certain idle dogmas and the 
real stamp and impression of created objects as they are 
found in nature." 3 Plato, he said, " was without doubt a 

1 De Aug. Scient., Lib. II. c. 13. 
a Adv. of Learn. 3 Nov. Org., II. § 23. 



384 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

man of loftier genius " than Aristotle, and " aimed also at 
the knowledge of forms, and used induction universally, not 
for principles only, but also for middle propositions ; and 
these things were truly divine ; but. he grasped at abstract 
forms, drew his matter of induction from common and 
obvious things only, and, on the whole, adulterated nature 
as much with theology as Aristotle with logic, and, to say 
the truth, approached as near to the province of the poet 
as the other to that of the sophist." * His opinion of Aris- 
totle and the Greek philosophers generally was, on the 
whole, 4i that such systems and theories were like the dif- 
ferent arguments of dramatic pieces, moulded into a certain 
keeping with nature." But he agreed with Empedocles 
and Democritus, " who complain, the first madly enough, 
but the second soberly, that all things are hidden away 
from us, that we know nothing, that truth is drowned in 
deep wells, and that the true and the false are strangely 
joined and twisted together ; and therefore, let all men 
know that the preferring of complaints against nature and 
the arts [i. e. making strict inquiry and examination] is a 
thing well pleasing to the gods, and draws down new alms 
and bounties from the divine goodness." 2 

It was not the dialectic method of Plato in itself, which 
was nothing less than critical and scientific thinking, and 
used induction universally, that ?s, as an actual interpreta- 
tion of nature, nor his metaphysical theory of the universe, 
that Bacon objected to in him, but the too exclusively 
metaphysical phase of his philosophy and the theological 
direction which it had given to the studies and contempla- 
tions of men, to the utter neglect of any scientific study of 
nature. It relied too much on " discourse and doctrine " : 
Plato, he says, '- extolleth too much the understanding of 
man in the inward light thereof." 3 But besides this royal 

1 Int. of Nat, Works (Mont.), XV; 26-7. 

2 Prometheus, Works (Boston), XIII. 150. 

3 Filum Labyrinthi (Boston), VI. 427. 



BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 385 

metaphysical road to a knowledge of God and the universe, 
which only such men as Plato, if indeed they, could pursue 
with safety, he saw that there was another path, more prac- 
ticable and certain for the minds of men in general, more 
abounding in practical fruit, more powerful for progress, and 
more sure to furnish in good time a solid foundation for the 
higher metaphysical philosophy, and more certain to lead 
finally to the same end, a true knowledge of the universe 
and of the order of Divine Providence in it. Plato had 
" subjected the world to his contemplations, and Aristotle, 
his contemplations to terms," and the studies of men, verg- 
ing toward " logomachies and disputations," had left " the 
way of the severer investigation of truth." Some of the 
ancients had penetrated more deeply and acutely into 
nature than Aristotle. This was the very thing to be done. 
Democritus, by reason of his skill in nature, had been 
deemed a Magician. His townsmen, taking him to be in- 
sane, sent for the great physician, Hippocrates, who found 
him to be, after all, the most sane man in all Abdera. Men 
should return to the other and better path. He would fix 
their attention upon the atoms of Democritus, " who more 
openly than any one else asserted the eternity of matter, 
while he denied the eternity of the world." 1 In short, at 
that point in the history of philosophy, this path had been 
abandoned. Democritus seemed to ascribe to atoms "a 
heterogeneous motion," not less than u a heterogeneous 
body and power " ; but in reality, he did not ; on the con- 
trary, he distinctly intimated that atoms " were like nothing 
that falls under the observation of sense," and he held them 
" to be of a dark and secret nature," and invisible, needing 
further investigation. Democritus himself had got no fur- 
ther on, and had terminated his inquiries in some vague 
idea of necessity. For Bacon, in this same direction lay 
the true line of search for ki the last and positive power and 
law of nature," and the continuity of that chain of causes, 

1 Fable of Cupid (Phil.), I., 438. 
25 



386 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

which must needs be tied to the foot of Jupiter's chair. At 
bottom, there is a near resemblance, an essential identity of 
doctrine, between these invisible atoms of Democritus and 
Bacon and the monads or invisible points of Leibnitz ; only 
that the conception is further cleared up in Bacon and 
Leibnitz, and the analysis attempted to be carried on to the 
end in the last and positive power and cause of nature ; 
that is, as they both understood, in the thinking power of 
God. Democritus had not been understood, and he ft had 
been ridiculed by the vulgar; but neither the opposition 
of Aristotle (who was solicitous that posterity should not 
doubt his dogmas) could effect by violence, nor the majesty 
of Plato effect by reverence, the demolition of this philos- 
ophy " ; but Genseric, Attila, and the barbarians had been 
the ruin of it. 

It was not so much the philosophy of Democritus as he 
left it, as his method, the direction of his search, that Bacon 
commended. As to the origin and cause of nature itself, 
he agreed with the ancient Fable of Cupid rather than with 
Democritus. He interprets this fable as an allegorical 
representation of the first matter and cause of all things. 
Cupid, that is," the ancient Cupid or Love, " the most ancient 
of the gods," born of an egg over which Night brooded, and 
coeval with Chaos, was " introduced," he says, " without a 
parent, that is, without a cause." l The fable relates to 
"the cradle and infancy of nature, and pierces deep." 
" This Love I understand," he continues, " to be the appetite 
or instinct of primal matter ; or to speak more plainly, the 
natural motion of the atom; which is indeed the original 
and unique force that constitutes and fashions all things out 
of matter. Now this is entirely without parent ; that is, 
without cause. For cause is as it were parent of effect." 2 
And the parent, first cause, and primal essence of things, 
must be a self-subsistent person and a finality as the one 

1 Fable of Cupid. De Aug. Sclent, L. III. c. 4. 

2 Wisdom of the Ancients ; Works (Boston), XIII. 122. 



BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 387 

and all of being, God ; " for," says he, " there cannot be in 
nature (for we always except God) any cause of the first 
matter, and of its proper influence and action, for there is 
nothing prior in time to the first matter." The first matter 
is the thinking essence or power of God, and, as such, is 
older than time itself. This person, and first essence of all 
things, is represented in the fable as born of an egg. This 
birth was a mere figure of speech, and it had reference to 
" the proofs," the mode of thinking out the fact of the 
existence of such person. The egg was the whole problem. 
Night represented " the negatives and exclusions " ; Light, 
" the affirmatives " ; the brooding, " the mature incubation," 
was the true method and process of philosophical inquiry ; 
and Cupid was to be at last the hatched conception of the 
all of being, God, in the complete antithesis of light against 
darkness ; affirmation against negation ; being against non- 
entity ; all actuality against all possibility ; that is to say, 
an essential living power of the nature of the power of 
thought itself, a thinking essence, a thinking person, and 
the All. 

In Plato, the same conception, dropping somewhat of the 
poetical dress of the fable, stands forth in the more naked 
form of philosophical expression. According to him, the 
Divine Soul, the primal existence, comprehending under 
itself " motion and standing " all in one, is " that which 
moves itself," is " the beginning of motion," is " the oldest 
and most divine of all things," is " nothing else but power" 
(of the nature of thinking power), and " imparts an ever- 
flowing existence," in the perpetual work of creating a 
universe. 1 " The mode of this thing which is uncaused," 
continues Bacon, in the Fable of Cupid, " is likewise very 
obscure, which indeed the fable elegantly hints in Cupid 
being hatched beneath the brooding wing of Night." The 
inspired philosopher had felt the same difficulty, when he 

i Phcedrus, Works of Plato (Bohn), I. 321 ; Sophist, lb. III. 151-6; Lawa, 
fb. V. 543. 



388 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

said, " God hath made all things beautiful in their seasons: 
He hath also set the world in their heart, yet so that no 
man can find out the work that God worketh from the be- 
ginning unto the end. For the great law of essence and 
nature cuts and runs through the vicissitudes of things, 
(which law seems to be described in the compass of the 
words, the work which God wrought from the beginning even 
to the end,) the power lodged by God in the primitive par- 
ticles, from the multiplication of which, the whole variety 
of things might spring forth and be composed, may indeed 
just strike, but cannot enter deeply the mind of man." 
But the philosopher must constantly bear in mind that 
Cupid is without parents, and endeavor to grasp the whole 
fact as a universal perception and conception and the final 
all, not permitting "his understanding to turn aside to 
empty questions," and must therewith rest satisfied ; for, as 
he says again, " it would argue levity and inexperience in a 
philosopher to require or imagine a cause for the last and 
positive power and law of nature." Precisely herein lies 
the difficulty, that in attempting to grasp " universal per- 
ceptions of this kind, the human mind becomes diffusive, 
and departs from the right use of itself and of its objects, 
and whilst it tends toward things more distant, falls back 
upon those that are nearer." And when, through its own 
limited capacity, " it stretches itself toward those things, 
which, according to experience, are for the most part uni- 
versal, and, nevertheless, is unwilling to rest satisfied, then, 
as if desiring something more within the reach of its 
knowledge, it turns itself to those things which have most 
affected or allured it, and imagines them to be more cau- 
sative and palpable than those universals." And in the 
Wisdom of the Ancients, he says again: "Nor need we 
wonder that Pan's horns touch heaven ; since the sum- 
mits, or universal forms of nature, do in a manner reach 
up to God ; the passage from metaphysic to natural theol- 
ogy being ready and short " ; that is to say, these universal 



BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 389 

forms, or conceptions, and laws of thought, must be referred 
to the Divine Mind itself. Again, interpreting this same 
myth, he says, that Pan, as the name itself imports, repre- 
sents the Universe or All of Things ; and after giving the 
threefold narration of the ancients concerning the creation 
of Pan, he concludes by saying, that Cm the story might ap- 
pear to be true, if we rightly distinguished times and things ; 
for this Pan (as we now see and comprehend him) has his 
origin from the Divine Word, through the medium of con- 
fused Matter, (which is yet itself the work of God,) Sin 
(" Prevaricatio ") creeping in, and through it Corruption." l 
So also Plato taught that God created, first, the primary 
forms of matter ; though it would seem that Bacon here 
supposed that Plato, like Aristotle, believed in a primal 
matter " wholly waste, formless, and indifferent to forms " 
(a sort of dead substratum ?) on which God worked ; an 
opinion, to which the Phaedo alone might seem to give some 
countenance, if it did not distinctly appear otherwise in other 
parts of his writings ; and perhaps they all three really con- 
templated this waste and formless matter, as being, like the 
Scriptural matter that was " without form and void," the 
secondary condition of matter only, which was then under 
consideration. 

But returning to the method of Democritus, we should 
proceed in a rigidly scientific manner by negatives and 
exclusions on the one hand, and by affirmatives on the other, 
until both should be exhausted, when the all of truth would 
stand forth clear to the comprehension as bounded over, 
as it were, against sheer blank nothingness ; the whole 
actuality against all possibility. But unt'.l Cupid should be 
thus fully " sprung from Night," some degree of ignorance 
must attend the side of exclusions, and to us it would con- 
tinue to be " a kind of night " as to what of actual truth 
remained included still under that ignorance. Democritus 
had remarked u that it is requisite that the elements in the 
1 Be Aug. Sclent., L. II. c. 13. 



390 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

work of creation should put forth a secret and dark nature, 
lest any contrarious and opposing principle should arise." 
But when the elements should be brought out of ignorance 
into the light of truth, that " secret and dark nature " would 
be reduced to nothing, would vanish and disappear, leaving 
only a certain blank region of mere possibility beyond ; and 
it would then be seen, that no " contrarious and opposing 
principle " actually existed other than such blank possibility. 
Democritus was still struggling with the heterogeneous 
character of atoms, almost like another Dalton, and vainly 
endeavoring to ascend to " the primitive motion " and cause 
of all atoms ; but he had not attained to it, and his philos- 
ophy had been overwhelmed by the barbarians. Bacon 
would still pursue it with " the parable." Night was not 
to brood over the egg forever : the inquiry must not stop. 
But, he continues, u it is certainly proper to the Deity, that 
in an inquiry into his nature by means of the senses, ex- 
clusions should not terminate in affirmatives " ; that is, 
should not stop short in any incomplete body of affirmations, 
but " that after due exclusions and negations something 
should be affirmed and settled, and that the egg should be 
produced by a seasonable and mature incubation ; not only 
that the egg should be brought forth by Night, but also 
that the person of Cupid should be delivered of the egg: 
that is, that not only should an obscure notion upon this 
subject be originated, but one that is distinct." And he 
adds : u I think in accordance with the parable." 

It is clear enough that to the mind of Bacon the Cupid 
of the fable represented the First Cause and essence of all 
things, the one substance, neither an abstract matter nor a 
dead substratum, but a living, thinking essence and power, a 
personal God and Creator of the Universe, as cause running 
through the links of Nature's chain, as essence cutting and 
running through the vicissitudes of things, in the creation 
which God works from the beginning to the end, not 
stopping with any six days' works ; cause eternally passing 



BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 391 

into effect and subsisting in it as unity in variety ; the one 
and the many ; the particulars and the whole ; being against 
nonentity ; actuality against possibility ; thinking on the one 
hand, and forgetting on the other ; creation and destruction ; 
remembrance and oblivion ; for, as he says, again, " it is 
most evident that the elements themselves, and their prod- 
ucts, have a perpetuity not in individuo, but by supply 
and succession of parts. For example, the vestal fire, that 
was nourished by the virgins at Rome, was not the same 
fire still, but was in perpetual waste, and in perpetual 
renovation." * And so, it would seem that he had arrived 
at that last outcome of all philosophy, ancient or modern, 
wherein it is found that God exists as a necessary fact, and 
a truth which is to be intellectually observed and seen by 
all those having eyes to see, resting for proof, not on any 
few petty Paley-evidences merely, but on all evidence at 
once, not as learning, but as u sapience," and as a power 
of the nature of the power of thought, eternally thinking a 
universe, and being thus the first cause of all created things 
and the ultimate fact of all actuality, bounded over, as it 
were, against all possibility, — motion and standing in one ; 
beyond which it would be absurd to inquire for a further 
cause, or a more ultimate fact: — there being no need of 
another gun to shoot this gun. 

In this Fable of Cupid, he speaks of three opinions con- 
cerning the nature of matter : first, that which held an 
original chaos of unformed matter, " stripped and passive," 
but subsisting of itself from the beginning. This kind of 
matter he considered as " altogether an invention of the 
human mind " : and next, a second, that w forms existed 
more than matter or action," so that the primitive and com- 
mon matter seemed as it were an accessary, and to be in 
the place of a support to them ; but every sort of action 
only an emanation from the form, — thus wholly separating 
action or power from matter as something distinct from it ; 
i Works (Boston), XV- 39, 



392 BACON A PHILOSOPHER. 

and hence, also, a third, which " derived the kingdom of 
forms and ideas in essences by the addition of a kind of 
fantastic matter," — an " abstract matter," together with 
" abstract ideas and their powers." This last was a mere 
u superstition," and this " troop of dreamers had nearly 
overpowered the more sober class of thinkers." But in his 
view, " these assertions respecting abstract matter were as 
absurd as it would be to say the universe and nature were 
made out of categories and such dialectic notions." He 
agreed with the more ancient philosophy, that " the prim- 
itive matter (such as can be the origin of things "), the first 
entity, " ought no less to possess a real existence than those 
which flow from it ; rather more. For it has its own 
peculiar essence, and from it come all the rest." In a word, 
there was no matter distinct from the causative thinking 
essence itself; and this only had a real existence. a Almost 
all the ancients," says he, " Empedocles, Anaxagoras, Anax- 
imines, Heraclitus, Democritus, though disagreeing in other 
respects upon the prime matter, joined in this, that they 
held an active matter with a form, both arranging its own 
form, and having within itself the principle of motion." 
Thus it clearly appears, that matter was to be considered 
as power of the nature of the power of thought in perpetual 
activity, producing motion, moving itself, giving form, and 
being the only real substance, — a thinking essence ; — all 
matter else being a mere figment of the brain. 

But cloudy logomachies and visionary mystifications were 
to cease. Empty categories and syllogistic sophistries were 
to be swept away. Theological haze was to be cleared up. 
As touching Aristotle and the Church, the question between 
him and the ancient was not of " the virtue of the race, but 
of the rightness of the way " : it was only " part of the 
same thing more large." He w T ould have men return to 
the study of nature in a scientific manner, well knowing, 
doubtless, whither that course would lead them in the end. 
Physics and metaphysics were to go hand in hand together 



THE PHILOSOPHER A POET. 393 

as inseparable parts of natural philosophy. And when, in 
the course of time, a sufficiently ample foundation should 
be laid in a thorough knowledge of nature, the loftier super- 
structure of the Fhilosophia Prima, the Science of Sciences, 
Philosophy itself, might be raised and completed. He 
seems to have contemplated some statement of the final 
result in the Sixth Part of the Great Instauration ; but he 
tells us that it was " both beyond his power and expectation 
to perfect and conclude it." He might make " no con- 
temptible beginning"; and "men's good fortune would 
furnish the result ; such as men could not easily compre- 
hend, or define, in the present state of things and the mind." 
Nor was it to treat " only of contemplative enjoyment, but 
of the common affairs and fortune of mankind, and of a 
complete power of action." This part was not written, 
but enough appears in his writings to show, that it would 
have been no materialistic science of dead substratum, no 
economic science of practical fruit merely, nor any sort of 
machine philosophy. 

§ 2. THE PHILOSOPHER A POET. 

In the midst of these abstruse considerations of the 
nature of cause and form, we fall upon this passage in his 
discussion of the opinion of Parmenides, in this same Fable 
of Cupid, " That the first forms and first entities are active,, 
and that so the first substances also, cold and heat ; that 
these, nevertheless, exist incorporeally, but that there is 
subjoined to them a passive and potential matter, which 
has a corporeal magnitude," and that " there are four co- 
essential natures, and conjoined, . . . light, heat, rarity, and 
motion ; ... for a true philosopher will dissect, not sever 
nature (for they, who will not dissect, must pull her asunder), 
and the prime matter is to be laid down joined with the 
primitive form, as also with the first principle of motion, as 
it is found." And so, in the play, Hamlet is made to say 
of the ghost : — 



394 THE PHILOSOPHER A POET. 

"His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, 
AVould make them capable." — Act III. Sc. 4. 

A commixture of studies as of law, nature, poetry, phi- 
losophy, may sometimes very curiously introduce similar 
ideas, illustrations, and language into very different writings 
of the same author, and that, too, perhaps all unconsciously 
to himself. In his dedication of his " Arguments of Law " 
to the Society of Gray's Inn, this idea of severing nature is 
introduced thus : " Nevertheless, thus much I may say with 
modestv, that these arguments which I have set forth 
(most of them) are upon subjects not vulgar, and there- 
withal, in regard of the commixture that the course of my 
life hath made of law with other studies, they may have 
the more variety and perhaps the more depth of reason : 
for the reasons of municipal laws severed from the grounds 
of nature, manners, and policy, are like wall-flowers, which, 
though they grow high upon the crests of states, yet they 
have no deep roots." Again, he lays it down as a rule in 
physics, "'that the connexion of things should not be sev- 
ered," as it " tends to preserve the fabric of the universe." 
And so Albany is made to say of the unnatural daughters 
of Lear : — 

" That nature which contemns its origin 
Cannot be border' d certain in itself; 
She that herself will sliver and disbranch 
From her material sap, perforce must wither, 
And come to deadly use." — Act IV. Sc. 2. 

And the same idea underlies these beautiful lines of the 
« Othello " : — 

" but once put out thy light, 
Thou cunning' st pattern of excelling nature, 
I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose, 
I cannot give it viral growth again; 
It needs must wither." — Act V. Sc. 2. 

And Lear himself may very well be supposed to hold this 
colloquy with the designing Gloster and the good Edgar, 



THE PHILOSOPHER A POET. 395 

without being considered positively mad, only mad in craft, 
thus : — 

" Lear. First, let me talk with this philosopher. — 
What is the cause of thunder? 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer: go into th' house. 

Lear. I '11 talk a word with this same learned Theban. — 
What is your study? 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. . . . 

Glus. I do beseech your grace, — 

Lear. 0, cry you mercy, sir ! — 

Noble philosopher, your company. 

Edg. Tom 's a-cold. . . . 

Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him: 

I will keep still with my philosopher." — Act III. Sc. 4. 

The philosopher, in the age of Shakespeare, had to sail 
sometimes under a cloud as dark as the disguise of Edgar, 
or the madness of Lear, or the world mi^ht be as dangerous 
to him as was that awful night of cataracts and hurricanoes, 

"Sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts," 

to the singed white head of Lear. Nevertheless, would 
Francis Bacon, in his more private and secret studies, still 
keep company with his first and last love, the Noble Phil- 
osopher. And he says, in the Essay on Goodness and 
Goodness of Nature, " This of all virtues and dignities of 
the mind is the greatest ; being the character of the Deity : 
and without it man is a busy, mischievous, wretched thing ; 
no better than a kind of vermin." And surely this must 
have been the same philosopher that founded the College 
of Universal Science, or Solomon's House, the very end of 
which was " the knowledge of Causes " ; which question of 
the cause appears frequently in the plays, as again thus : — 

u Lear. Then let them anatomize Began, see what breeds about her 
heart. Is there any cause in nature, that makes these hard hearts?" — 
Act III. Sc. 6. 

Bacon had studied the works of Plato, which, as they had 
never been translated into English, must have been for the 



896 THE PHILOSOPHER A POET. 

most part a sealed book to William Shakespeare. There 
are distinct traces of this study, in both the writings of 
Bacon and the plays, not merely in the idea and doctrine, 
but sometimes even in the expression. Plato relates a 
story of a learned philosopher of the ancient Thebes, who 
was consulted for his wisdom by the king of Egypt ; and in 
the Phaedo of Plato, the learned Simmias is addressed in 
the dialogue as " my Theban friend." It is, of course, not 
at all certain, but very easy to believe, that the writer of 
the play had this story in mind, when he put these words 
into the mouth of Lear : — 

" I '11 talk a word with this same learned Theban." 

For another instance, take this from Bacon : " Plato 
casteth his burden and saith, That he will revere him as 
a God, that can truly divide and define : which cannot be 
but by true forms and differences, wherein I join hands 
with him, confessing as much, as yet assuming to myself 
little." x And thus it stands in the " Hamlet " : — 

" Osr. Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes; believe me, an absolute 
gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very soft society, and great 
showing 

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; though, I know, 
to divide him inventorially, would dizzy the arithmetic of memory." — Act 
V. Sc. 2. 

And again says Bacon, in the same work : — 

" But I found myself constructed more for the contemplations of truth 
than for aught else, as having a mind sufficiently mobile for recognizing 
(what is most of all) the similitude of things, and sufficiently fixed and in- 
tent for observing the subtleties of differences, and possessing love of inves- 
tigation, patience in doubting, pleasure in meditating, delay in asserting, 
facility in returning to wisdom, and neither affecting novelty, nor admiring 
antiquity, and hating all imposture.'' 

Plato alludes to the " weaving a kind of Penelope's web 
the reverse way " ; Bacon, several times, uses the same 
simile of " Penelope's web doing and undoing " ; and in 
the second part of the " Henry VI." there is an allusion to 

l Int. of Nat, Works (Phil.), I. 90. 



THE PHILOSOPHER A POET. 397 

this same untwining of ki Parca's fatal web." Toss is a 
favorite word with Bacon and Shakespeare, and it is used 
by Plato in the same way. " And I often tossed myself 
upwards and downwards," says Plato ; " the word, the 
bread of life, they toss up and down," says Bacon. Plato's 
" prop of a state," appears oftentimes in Bacon, and fre- 
quently again in the plays. Top, as " tops of judgment," 
" tops of mountains," is a favorite metaphor in both writ- 
ings ; and Bacon quotes Pindar's " tops of all virtues." 
The simile of the mirror or glass, several times occurring 
in Plato, is a favorite one with Bacon, and it is often re- 
peated in the plays. Plato speaks of " seeing nothing with 
the mind's eye " ; Bacon, of " fixing the mind's eye stead- 
ily " ; and Hamlet answers : " In my mind's eye. Horatio." 
In Plato's " Laws," we find this expression, •' while beget- 
ting and rearing children, and handing in succession from 
some to others life, like a torch, and ever paying, accord- 
ing to law, worship to the gods " ; to which Bacon probably 
alludes, when he calls his method of delivery to posterity 
" the Handing on of the Lamp." So, in the " Measure for 
Measure," it is said : — 

" Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do, 
Not light them for ourselves." 

In the " Cratylus " of Plato, there is an allusion to the 
iEsopo-Socratic fable of the ass in the lion's skin, thus: — 
" But, however, since I have put on the lion's skin, I must 
not act the coward " ; and the same reappears in the " King 
John," thus : — 

" Const Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame, 
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs." 

In the " Banquet " of Plato, we have this passage : — 
" Thus, Phaedrus, Love appears to me to be, in the first 
place, himself the most beautiful and the best, in the next, 
to be the cause of such like beautiful things in other be- 
ings" ; Bacon says of the timing of instruments, that it is 



398 UNIVERSALS. 

not pleasant to hear, " but yet is a cause why the music is 
sweeter afterwards"; and so, FalstafT: "I am not only 
witty in myself, but a cause that wit is in other men." 

Not much can be safely founded on resemblances of this 
kind, standing alone ; but even straws may show which 
way the wind blows ; and when these authors are read to- 
gether and compared, in respect of their whole thought 
and manner, remembering that Bacon derived not a little 
of his deeper philosophy from the study of Plato, even 
these and the like similitudes may be admitted to have 
some significance. But he was himself one of those im- 
perial thinkers that recognize no master but one ; for he 
was accustomed, not merely " now and then to draw a 
bucket of water " out of " a deep well," as some others had 
done, but habitually to visit " the spring-head thereof." 

§ 3. UNIVERSALS. 

There are many passages in the writings of Bacon, which 
indicate that his opinion was, that the primal cause or 
essence itself gives the form of things ; and this can 
scarcely be conceived otherwise than as the essential 
power of thought, in creation, giving both the substance 
and the form to particular things, the active power being 
the only substance or matter, and being of itself by its own 
nature self-acting and self-directing cause : wherefore it 
had been laid down, that the first essence, or Cupid, was 
without parents. He then proceeds to the discussion of 
the " mode of this thing which is uncaused " ; for, as he 
says in the Advancement, " one must seek the dignity of 
knowledge in the archetype, or first platform, which is in 
the attributes and acts of God, as far as they are revealed 

to man, and may be observed with sobriety, not 

by the name of learning, but by that of wisdom or sapi- 
ence, for in God all knowledge is original." Lear, 

in his madness, supposed his philosopher, Edgar, to pos- 
sess something of this sapience : — 



UNIVERSALS. 399 

" Lear. I will arraign them straight. 

Come, sit thou here, most learned j-usticer; — [To Edgar. 
Thou sapient sir, sit here." — Act III. Sc. 6. 

It was likewise very obscure. Not so much with any 
idea of making the matter more clear, as for the better 
understanding, if possible, of the general scope and result 
to which his views and doctrines tended, let us suppose him 
to have expounded, in more modern phrase and in some 
what fuller outline, the following 

APHORISMS OF UNIVERSALS. 

1. God is to be conceived as an eternally continuing 
Power of Thought, and, as such, the only essence, sub- 
stance, or matter, the last power and cause of all Nature, 
a Divine Artist-Mind, eternally thinking, that is, creating r 
a Universe ; being, in fact, no other than " the order, 
operation, and Mind of Nature." 1 

2. The existence of such Power of Thought, in an 
eternal state of living activity, as self-acting and self-direct- 
ing cause, is an ultimate and final fact, beyond which, to 
inquire after, or to attempt to imagine, a further cause, or a 
more ultimate fact, would be contradictory to the laws of 
all thinking, and to the fact itself, which stands forth self- 
evident to the mental vision, whenever it is looked for, 
comprehended, and seen, by the true Interpreter of Na- 
ture having eyes to see ; and therefore, any attempt at such 
further inquiry would be in itself absurd, as it would be 
an inquiry after a non-existent fact, and an inconceivable 
thing. 2 

3. The Infinity of God consists in the exhaustless pos- 
sibility of his continuous existence as such Power of 
Thought. 

4. The Eternity of God consists in his ever-continuous 
activity as such existent Power of Thought, in thinking, — 
conceiving, remembering, and forgetting (voluntarily ceas- 

1 Nov. Org., Introd. 2 jfov. Org. I. § 48. 



400 UNIVERSALS. 

ing to remember) ; that is, in creating, upholding, and de- 
stroying, and continuing to uphold and create, a universe 
in Time and Space. 

5. His Omnipotence consists in the unlimited possibility 
of his own continuous existence as a Power of Thought in 
such continuous activity, and not in any power to transcend, 
or contradict, the nature of his own being as such existent 
actuality, or the necessary laws of all thought, under which 
alone existence and thinking, that is God and creation, are 
at all possible ; nor in his limited power, in accordance 
with the nature of his being and under the necessary laws 
of thought, so to create, uphold, and "destroy, and continue 
to uphold and create, a universe in Time nnd Space. 

6. His Omniscience consists in his knowing his own ex- 
istence, nature, power, necessary laws, and possibilities, — 
his self-consciousness, and the whole present state of his 
thought, existing in that consciousness as the present ex- 
istent universe in Time and Space. 

7. With God, to think and know is to create ; and his 
thought is reality ; and therefore, any foreknowlege of 
what is yet unthought and uncreated, or any foreordained 
plan of the creation, beyond this extent of his omniscience, 
is an inconceivable thing, an impossibility, and an absurdity. 

8. The Providential order and plan in the creation, so 
far as it has existed, now exists, or ever may exist, or can 
be conceived to exist, consists, and must consist, in the 
existence, nature, power, laws, and possibilities of God, to- 
gether with the actual order and plan of the present exist- 
ent created universe in time and space, so far only ; and 
hence the only possible foreground for us of what the cer- 
tain, the possible, and the probable continuation thereof 
will be, in any future or other Time and Space. 

9. What the plan will actually be, in the future conti- 
nuity of time, in respect of the particular details and total 
order thereof, is impossible to be foreknown, or to be con- 
ceived by man to be foreknown, to God himself; for, with 



UNIVERSALS. 401 

him, to conceive and know it, would be, to bring it into 
present actual existence as a part of the existent universe 
of fact and reality. 

10. The Freedom of God consists in the dependence of 
the existent created and remembered universe, and of any 
future universe, for what it shall be, in time and space, in 
the particular details and total plan thereof, upon his Free 
Will, which is Liberty. 

11. With God, in the continuity of his thought, is the 
continuity of Time and Space, that is of ideas ; and as the 
whole present state of his thought is, in each successive 
instant, present to his consciousness, being held, and, as it 
were, carried forward in his remembrance so far as it is 
remembered, and so sustained in the continuity of time : 
therefore, with him, it is an everlasting Now and Here, 
bounded only by the eternal possibilities of his thinking 
existence ; that is, of creating, remembering, and forgetting 
(ceasing to remember). 

12. The Perfection of God consists in his absolute 
wisdom, justice, goodness, and love, and in the beauty of 
his nature and being, as such existent Power of Thought, 
and not in any perfection of the created universe merely, 
wherein there can be no more perfection, goodness, and 
beauty possible in the particulars than as much as may con- 
sist with the total order and plan of the whole given crea- 
tion, as a universe of variety in unity ; nor more in the 
total plan thereof than what may possibly consist with the 
existence, nature, power, laws, and possibilities of God 
himself. 

13. The Immortality of any finite soul, or the endless 
continuity of its existence in future time and space (for in 
time and space only can a created soul possibly exist), is a 
possibility, and a probability, only, depending for the fact, 
like the rest of any future universe, on the divine nature 
and free-will in the future order of his providence. 

14. Therefore, the Immortality of any given soul can 

26 



402 UNIVERSALS. 

neither be foreknown to God, nor revealed to man, nor in 
any manner predicated for certain fact. 

15. Oblivion (or Nonentity) is the possibility of God's 
forgetting (ceasing to remember), that is, destroying and 
annihilating the created forms and substances of particular 
things as such by change of his thought in the same time 
and the same space, — totally withdrawing the power of 
his thought from that thing ; — the reality of oblivion as 
such possibility being necessarily subsumed and included 
in the existent fact of a First Cause of the nature of a 
Power of Thought in action, thinking a universe ; and not 
in any possibility of forgetting, totally annihilating, the cre- 
ation and himself; which would be an inconceivable thing, 
an impossibility, and an absurdity. 

16. The Infinity of Substance as the activity of such 
Power of Thought consists in the endless possibility of 
finite forms of substance, that is the possibility of the 
power of thought being exerted in special particular ways 
under the limitations of Time and Space, which are in 
themselves merely necessary laws of all thought, divine or 
human, giving form ; and thence the particular substances 
of all created things and their forms, and the modes of 
power, and motion, absolute or relative, which is produced 
by the power of thought in active movement, — the possi- 
bility of difference in totality. 

17. That Will Absolute consists in the possibility of the 
Divine Existence in fact as such self-moving Power of 
Thought and self- directing .cause, or Soul, measuring the 
total fact, the total amount of power, which, as such, is not 
absolutely free, but a fixed fact and a necessity : unlimited 
freedom for such Power of Thought could take place only 
at the exact point of total rest, wherein would be utter 
extinction and annihilation of all existence ; which is im- 
possible, a contradiction, and an inconceivable absurdity. 

18. Free- Will, or Liberty, when distinguished from self- 
moving power, is only one of the possibilities of thought, 



UNIVERSALS. 408 

and consists in the limited possibility of the total amount 
of power being exerted under all the necessary laws or 
principles of thought in co-action with one another, in 
special ways and particular directions (in Time and Space) ; 
that is, the possibility of self-moving Power, or Soul, giving 
law and limitation to itself in the process of creation of 
conceptions or things, and in the determination of acts, 
in thinking and doing ; wherein is the possibility of Time, 
Space, and Position, or times, spaces, and places, giving the 
forms and places of conceptions or things, or of acts and 
doings, in all creation or thinking, — the possibility of 
duality, plurality, multiplicity, diversity, change, and differ- 
ence ; opposition, co-ordination, and involution of particu- 
lars, — ideas, conceptions, things, or acts ; that is, of the 
involution, as it were, of the Divine Soul upon itself in 
thinking ; giving thus a progressive and flowing universe 
of variety and change in the unity of totality. 

19. Eternity consists merely in the possibility of time, 
or times in succession. 

20. Immensity consists merely in the possibility of space, 
or spaces in succession. 

21. Infinity, in reference to Time, Space, and Place, 
consists merely in the possibility of time, space, and posi- 
tion, or times, spaces, and places. 

22. Time, Space, and Position are in themselves merely 
necessary principles or laws of all possible thinking, giving 
the forms of ideas, conceptions, things, or acts, and their 
place and the correlation of places. 

23. Place, position, or mathematical point, expresses the 
exact point of beginning of creation of an idea, conception, 
thing, or act, where the finite begins to be bounded out of 
the infinite, into time, space, and position ; these three laws 
of thought giving thus the form and the place of the idea 
or thing or act. 

24. Personality is constituted in the totality of the think- 
ing subject : neither Time, Space, nor Position can be at 



404 UNIVERSALS. 

all predicated of the absolute thinking subject, or Divine 
Soul, otherwise than as such laws of thought, but only of 
the finite thinking person, among other created things, 
whether as an individual, physical object, or as a metaphys- 
ical subject. 

25. The Continuity of Time, for us, consists in the per- 
manence and persistence of created things, which may be 
eternal, or have an end, at the will of the Creator ; or 
rather, in the continuity of the work of creation in the 
Divine Mind. 

26. Mobility consists in the possibility of change of direc- 
tion of the power of thought in thinking, that is, of move- 
ment in creating and forgetting, and in changing the order 
of relation of ideas or things to one another. 

27. Motion consists in a change in fact of the power of 
thought, producing change of form, or change of relative 
place, or relative mode of power, that is, change of the 
power of thought exerted in time and space, whether imme- 
diately, or through mediate instrumentation ; continuous 
change, if in successive times and through successive spaces ; 
sudden, if in one time, producing change of space ; instan- 
taneous and total, if in the same time and the same space, 
as in oblivion or annihilation by forgetting, passing from 
activity to rest in that particular thing ; as also in total new 
creation, passing from rest into activity in that particular 
thing ; and partial and progressive in continuous change 
of relative place and mode, in the gradual and continu- 
ous change of old idea into new ; and at the precise point 
where the annihilation of the forgotten old conception, or 
creation, begins and ends, in the old time and space, there 
begins also necessarily at the same point and in the same 
instant of time, and continues, the creation of the new con- 
ception, or the new creation, in the new time and space ; 
and so on, through the successive instants of change in the 
perpetual flow of creation. 

28. Speed measures the amount of change of the power 



UN1VERSALS. 405 

of thought, giving the extent of change of form, or of rel- 
ative place, or mode, in a given time, in the work of 
change in the creation of new or in the destruction of the 
old forms, or order of things. 

29. Equilibrium measures that degree of exertion of the 
power of thought in the same space and in one time, or 
through a continuous series of times in the same space or 
series of spaces, which is necessary in order to keep the 
thought continuously in one and the same state for any 
given length of time, in respect of the whole, or any part 
of it ; and this is Remembrance, wherein is the stability of 
the universe so far as it is stable, and its permanence in so 
far as it is permanent : and equilibrium takes place at the 
exact point of median stationary balance between movement 
and rest, between creating and forgetting ; and hence that 
law of gravitation of all bodies toward each other with a 
degree of force directly proportional to the mass, and in- 
versely proportional to the square of the distance, whereby 
in conjunction with a projectile impulse giving orbits of 
revolution, the heavenly bodies are held in their places and 
orbits in more or less permanent universal stability, in the 
perpetual flow of the Providential order. 

30. Absolute or Total Rest would take place only at the 
exact point wherein the activity of the divine thought 
should wholly cease, ending in a flat contradiction to the 
necessary and self-evident fact of an existent Power of 
Thought eternally in action without rest : any such supposi- 
tion would be an inconceivable thing, an impossibility, and 
an absurdity. 

31. Necessity consists in the fact of the existence of 
God as such Power of Thought eternally thinking a 
universe ; and the term Power comprises under it what 
Cousin denominates " a triplicity in unity " ; that is, Cause, 
Effect, and the Relation of causality subsisting between 
them. 

32. Causality consists in the power of thought passing 



406 UNIYERSALS. 

into movement and a creation in time and space as the 
actual thought of the Divine Thinker or Creator, the term 
Relation merely expressing the fact of the sustained con- 
tinuity of the activity of this power, which is in itself by 
its own nature a self-acting and self directing cause of the 
nature of the power of thought (it being of the very nature 
of Soul to move itself), and, as such, the ultimate fact of 
all actuality. 

33. The truth of this necessary Fact, and the actual ex- 
istence of such Being as all actuality bounded over, as it 
were, against all possibility, as Cupid bounded out of the 
brooding Night, can no more be denied than a man can 
deny his own existence, or that of the universe around 
him; and it is the last miracle that disappears from the 
mind of the philosopher, when he comes to discover and 
see, with Bacon, " that the knowledge of causes only can 
resolve the miracle of the thing, and clear up the mental 
astonishment " ; 1 and indeed that all things are alike mi- 
raculous and not miraculous, at once and alike natural and 
supernatural ; that it is the last fact of all science and a 
credible object of firm belief, — not an imaginary faith in 
an incredible dogma and an inconceivable vision of the un- 
critical fancy, but the undoubting faith of direct and im- 
mediate knowledge, or Sapience, and the final haven of rest 
for the soul ; as when the explorer, ascending the meridian 
from the equator, reaches the highest actual and possible 
verge at the pole, he rests, and is satisfied, seeing and 
knowing that no higher is, or can be, but that all attempt 
to go further must needs descend again toward whence he 
came. 

34. The Mind or Soul of man, or animal, as far down in 
the zoological scale as any appearance of a self-directing 
cause, moving itself, can be traced by the eye of science, is 
to be considered as a special exhibition of the same divine 
power of thought exerted in a special way and in a particu- 

1 Delineatio, Works (Boston), VII. 46. 



UNIVERSALS. 407 

lar direction under limitations greater or less, but identical 
in fundamental essence, differing only by limitation ; itself 
likewise by virtue of such identical nature self-acting and 
self-directing cause so far, coming in from the direction of 
the supernatural, and rising by gradations in amount of 
power from the lowest point and last dividing line of mere 
instinct to the highest grade of human intelligence ; and 
the body of man, or animal, is but a structure-built exhibi- 
tion of the same power, proceeding from the opposite 
direction, as it were, of the physical and natural, and 
ascending by corresponding gradations of structure from 
the lowest to the highest type of animal organization, in- 
vesting and closing in the soul, which also comes in from 
underneath and within the physical web itself as a special 
stream of power of the nature of the power of thought. 

Thus, in this convolution of soul and body, is constituted 
the individuality of the man as physical object, and his 
personality as metaphysical subject, and between these fold- 
ings in of the divine thought upon itself in the special con- 
stitution of a finite soul, there arises therein a certain 
limited sphere of practical action and effect on the physical 
and other world external to the soul, and a certain possi- 
bility of thinking existence for the soul itself, which is yet 
that same all possibility in which the universe itself is cre- 
ated ; in which limited sphere the finite soul has a certain 
narrow range of liberty, creative play, and scope of free 
will, or choice, and a certain given amount of power of 
thinking and doing, under a special consciousness of its 
own ; all beyond this sphere of liberty and limitation being 
the order of divine providence in the universe, and, as 
such, absolute fate (which is also Providence, says Bacon) 
for this soul : and in the collision of the external powers or 
forces coming in through the senses against the soul, so 
constituted, as a power acting in an opposite direction 
against and upon the physical phenomena in these external 
powers, takes place all sense-perception ; and in the crea- 



408 UNIVERSALS. 

tive play of the soul as a special power of thought and a 
special creator, within its given sphere of liberty and with 
its given amount of power, take place all its own intellect- 
ual conceptions and artistic creations, — its inner thought 
and knowledge, — and all its own doings, under its own 
consciousness, and on its own personal responsibility so 
far. with a certain definite and proportionate accountability 
for consequences both to itself and to the Higher Power ; 
first, physical, then juridical, then moral, then aesthetical, 
and lastly, religious ; proceeding in this in the direct order 
of necessity and in the inverse order of dignity and ex- 
cellence to the highest perfection of a finite soul ; all its 
acts and doings being the work of the power as cause, 
done under the direction and in the conscious presence of 
the thinking person, within the constituted sphere of his 
liberty ; at one time, or in one instance, shrinking down to 
the instinctive point of bare existence as soul, and at 
another time, or in another instance, swelling and expand- 
ing to a faculty of comprehension, capable of conceiving 
the known worlds and all conceivable worlds, being in 
its highest exhibition in man, according to Bacon, " as 
a mirrour or glass, capable of the image of the universal 
world." 

And so it is actually true, that in soul and body, 

" We are such stuff 
m As dreams are made of." — Temp., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

The difference is not so much in the stuff as in the dreamer. 
The universe itself is but the best waking dream of Him 
that never sleeps ; while our dreams are nothing but the 
fantastic creations of a soul half awake ; and for the most 
part our waking dreams are not much better : — 

" True, I talk of dreams, 
Which are the children of an idle brain, 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; 
Which is as thin of substance as the air." 

Rom. and Jul., Act I. Sc. 4. 



CUPID AND NEMESIS. 409 

All that which is past, says Bacon, a is as a dream ; and he 
that hopes or depends upon time coming, dreams waking.'' 
And Poesy, we remember, was " the dream of knowledge," 
and "was thought to be somewhat inspired with divine 
rapture ; which dreams likewise present." And thus speaks 
Imogen in the play : — 

" Imo. I hope I dream ; 

For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
And cook to honest creatures; but 'tis not so: 
'T was but a bolt of nothing, shot of nothing, 
"Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes 

Are sometimes like our judgments blind 

The dream 's here still: even when I wake, it is 
Without me, as within me : not imagin'd, felt." 

Cymb., Act IV. Sc. 2. 

§ 4. CUPID AND NEMESIS. 

In Bacon's discussion of the Fables of Cupid and Nem- 
esis, is to be found the whole philosophical foundation of 
the " Romeo and Juliet." One main object of the play was, 
to exhibit as in a model, under the dramatic form of ar- 
tistic creation, the essential nature and character of love, 
and that Juliet that was " the perfect model of eternity," as 
being the executive beneficence of the creative power ; for, 
says he, " love is nothing but goodness put in motion or 
applied," * or again, " the original and unique force that 
constitutes and fashions all things out of matter, it being, 
next to God, the cause of causes, itself without cause " ; a 
or, as a more modern philosopher states it, love is " the 
essence of God," and " the idealism of Jesus" is but "a 
crude statement of the fact, that all nature is the rapid 
efflux of goodness executing and organizing itself"; 8 the 
Platonic and Christian love, or Milton's 

" Bright effluence of bright essence increate " ; 

1 Int. of Nature. 

2 Wisd. of the Ancients, Worlcs (Boston;, XIII. 122. 

3 Emerson's Essays, I. 183, 281. 



410 CUPID AND NEMESIS. 

and the same that turns Dante's heaven, and rains its virtue 
down : — 

" E questo Cielo non ha altro dove, 
Che la mente divina, in ehe s' accende 
L' amor che V volge e la virtu ch' ei piove " ; 

or, as Romeo defines it : — 

"0, anything, of nothing first create ! " 

and Juliet, thus : — 

" Jul. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
My love as deep; the more I give to thee, 
The more I have, for both are infinite." — Act II. Sc. 2. 

Not only the philosophy, but even the very language and 
imagery of these Fables of Cupid and Nemesis, as related 
by Bacon, are distinctly traceable in the play, as in this 
passage : — 

" Jul Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! 

Come, civil night, 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: 
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, 
With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown bold, 
Think true love acted simple modesty. 
Come, night, come Romeo, come thou day in night ; 
For thou will lie upon the wings of night, 
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back." — Act HI. Sc. 2. 

This is the same brooding wing of Night under which 
Cupid was hatched and born, in the complete antithesis of 
something and nothing, affirmative and negative, light and 
darkness ; and the same ideas and imagery pervade the 
following lines : — 

" Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! 
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night, 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; 
Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear ! 
So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shews." — Act I. Sc. 5. 



CUPID AND NEMESIS. 411 

And again, thus : — 

" King. 0, paradox ! Black is the badge of Hell, 
The hue of dungeons, and the shade of night; 
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well." 

Love's L. L., Act IV. Sc. 3. 

And thus the Sonnet, with a color of the same inspira- 
tion : — 

" Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, 

Her eyes so suited : and they mourners seem 

At such, who not born fair, no beauty lack, 

Slandering creation with a false esteem: 
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, 
That every tongue says, beauty should do so." ^cxxvii 

In like manner, the language and imagery as well as the 
leading ideas of the fable of Nemesis may be traced in 
many passages toward the end of the play : the following 
instances will explain themselves without further comment. 

In the interpretation of this fable, in the Wisdom of the 
Ancients, Bacon says : — 

" They say she was the daughter of Night and Ocean. She is represented 
with wings and a crown : an ashen spear in her right hand: a phial with 

Ethiops in it, in her left; sitting upon a stag The parents of this 

goddess were Ocean and Night; that is, the vicissitude of things, and the 
dark and secret judgment of God. For the vicissitude of things is aptly 
represented by the Ocean, by reason of its perpetual flowing and ebbing; 
and secret providence is rightly set forth under the image of Night." 

And thus it begins to appear in the play : — 

" Rom. Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; 
Being purg'd, a lire sparkling in lovers' eyes; 
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears." — Act I. Sc. 1. 

Cap. How now! a conduit, girl? What ! still in tears ? 
Evermore showering? In a little body 
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind. 
Eor still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, 
Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is, 
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; 
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, 
Without a sudden calm, will overset 
Thy tempest-toss'd body." — Act III. Sc. 5. 



412 CUPID AND NEMESIS. 

Again : — 

" Nemesis is described as wing'd ; because of the sudden und urforeseen 
revolutions of things " : 

acd in the play, this sudden revolution and change of 
things is introduced in these lines : — 

" Cap. All things, that we ordained festival, 
Turn from their office to black funeral, 
Our instruments, to melancholy bells; 
Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast; 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 
And all things change them to the contrary." — Act IV. Sc. 5. 

And again, the story continues : — 

"Nemesis is distinguished also with a crown; in allusion to the envious 
and malignant nature of the vulgar; for when the fortunate and the power- 
ful fall, the people commonly exult and set a crown upon the head of 

Nemesis "; 

which shows itself in the play, thus : — 

" Nurse. Shame come to Romeo ! 

Jul Blister' d be thy tongue, 

For such a wish! He was not born to shame: 
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; 
For't is a throne where honour may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal Earth." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

The story proceeds : — 

" The spear in her right hand relates to those whom sue actually strikes 
and transfixes. And if there be any whom she does not make victims of 
calamity and misfortune, to them she nevertheless exhibits that dark and 
ominous spectre, in her left: for mortals must needs be visited, even when 
they stand at the summit of felicity, with images of death, diseases, mis- 
fortunes, perfidies of friends, plots of enemies, changes of fortune and the 
like; even like those Ethiops in the phial." 

And the play makes use of all this even to the filial full 
of Ethiops, spectres, and images of death, thus : — 

" Jul Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, 
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls; 
Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
Things that to hear them told have made me tremble ; 



CUPID AND NEMESIS. 413 

And I will do it without fear or doubt. 
To live an nnstain'd wife to my sweet love. . ■ . 
Fri. Take thou this phiai. being then in bed, 
And this ist I liquor drink thou off: 
When presently through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour: for no pulse 
Shall keep his native pr< gress, it surcease: 
Xo warmth, no breath, sha I testify thou livest; 
The roses in thy Dps and ;heeks shall fade 
To paly ashes: thy eyes' win lows : .. ... 
Like - -- h i sh lts lay of life; 

Each part. depriv"d of supple government. 
Shall, stiff and stark and c Id, a] pear like leath: 
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death 
Thou shalt continue twe and forty hours, 
And then a - : m a pleasant sleep. — Act IV, Sc. 1. 



Jul. My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 

Come, phial. — 

Or. if I live, is it not very like. 

The horrible conceit of death and night. 

Together with the ten r .: :. e place, — 

As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 

Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 

Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd: 

Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth. 

Lies festering in his shroud : where as they say. 

At some hours in the night spirits resort." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

11 And certainly." continues Bacon with the fable, "when I have read 
that chapter of Cains Plinius in which he has collected the misfortunes and 
miseries of Augustus Caesar. — him whom I thought of all men the most 
fortunate, and who had moreover a certain art of using and enjoying his 
fortune, and in whose mind were d traces of swelling, of tightness, of soft- 
ness, of confusion, or of melancholy, insomuch that once he had determined 
to die voluntarily.) — great and powerful must this goddess be, I have 
thought, when such a victim was brought to the altar." 

And of this swelling, tightness, softness, confusion, melan 
choly. and voluntary dying, and the splendid victim of this 
powerful goddess brought to the altar, we have some un- 
mistakable exhibition in this play : and these misfortunes 
and miseries of Nemesis appear again in Eomeo's speech 
to the Apothecary, all these several topics falling in at the 
proper time and place, and in such form as the course of 
the drama requires : — 



414 CUPID AND NEMESIS. 

" Rom. Art. thou so base and full of wretchedness, 
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, 
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, 
Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back. 1 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: 
The world affords no law to make thee rich; 
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this." — Act V* Sc. 1. 

But Nemesis more particularly represents the dark and 
secret judgment of God ; and, continues Bacon, in the 
fable:— " 

" This Nemesis of the Darkness (the human not agreeing with the divine 
judgment) was matter of observation even among the heathen. 

Ripheus fell too, 
Than whom a juster and truer man 
In all his dealings was not found in Troy. 
But the gods j udged not so : " — 

which difference of the divine and human judgment creeps 
into the end of the play thus : — 

" Fri. Lady, come from that nest 

Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep. 
A greater Power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents : come, come away. 



Prince. See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, 
That Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love." 

Act V. Sc. 3. 

" Fri. Peace, ho ! for shame ! confusion's cure lives not 
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
Had part in this fair maid; now Heaven hath all; 
And all the better is it for the maid: 
Your part in her you could not keep from death, 
But Heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 

Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse : and, as the custom is, 
In all her best array bear her to the church ; 

1 This play seems to have undergone considerable emendation subse- 
quently to the quarto of 1597, which, in place of this and the preceding line, 
reads as follows : — 

" Upon thy back hangs ragged miserie, 
And starved famine dwelleth in thy cheeks." 

See White's Shakes., X. 132 ; Notes, 189. 



SCIENCE OF MATTER. 415 

For though fond Nature bids us all lament, 

Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment." — Act IV. Sc. 5. 



§ 5. SCIENCE OF MATTER. 

The general scope of Bacon's theory of universals was 
essentially and at bottom the same with that of the higher 
modern philosophy : its end was to be Philosophy itself. 
His discussions concerning the nature of cause and form 
make it clear that he had arrived, substantially, at the 
transcendental conceptions of both. Forms, as anything 
separate and distinct from the real essence of things and 
those fundamental and eternal laws of thought under which 
essence takes form, were mere fictions of the imagination ; 
and matter, as anything distinct from the last and positive 
power and cause of nature, was simply a fantastic super- 
stition. " His form and cause conjoined " in the ghost 
exactly illustrate the metaphysical conception of the true 
nature of matter and form, cause and effect, noumena and 
phenomena, and the mode and manner of action and opera- 
tion of that uncaused power that creates all things ; that is 
to say, that it is, in fact and reality, a power of the nature 
of the power of thought, wholly, as the only actual sub- 
stance, essence, or matter, eternally in activity, under laws 
which are necessary laws of all possible thinking, divine or 
human, and in reference to the divine mind, identical with 
the laws of nature or physics so far, and in the modes of 
thought only, giving therein the substances of all created 
things and their forms, together with the order, particular 
distribution, movement, and total plan, moral fitness, per- 
fection, and artistic beauty, exhibited in the entire provi- 
dential scheme and purpose in the creation of any universe, 
past, present, or future : whence comes for us, in the study 
and contemplation of the past and present universe that 
lies open before us as the book of God's works so far, a 
foreground and promise of the certain (so far as certain), 
the possible, and the probable continuation thereof in 



416 SCIENCE OF MATTER. 

the future ; — an uncreated thinking Power, thinking His 
universe. And so he imagined it possible for the Creator 
to bring the disembodied spirit or ghost into view of the 
physical eye of Hamlet. Not that this was possible in 
actual human experience, but that by a certain poetic 
license, the thing might be conceived in the mind as possi- 
ble in the artistically creative manner in which the imagi- 
nation works. A strictly scientific observation of facts in 
external nature clearly proves that it would be utterly im- 
possible for the human eye, organized and constructed as 
it is, actually to see and perceive any object, substance, or 
thing whatever so thin and ethereal in its nature as the 
spiritual form of a disembodied soul must be ; though such 
a spiritual creation, on the metaphysical principles which 
Bacon had laid down and expounded, and in accordance 
with exact scientific thinking, too, might have a real exist- 
ence in nature as a finite created object, or subject, and a 
substantial thing, existing in time and space as a part of the 
existent universe, though invisible to mortal eyes : — 

"Ham. Touching this vision here, — 

It is an honest ghost, that let rne tell you." — Act I. Sc. 5. 

Nevertheless, even Hamlet himself was not quite sure of 
him: — 

"Ham. The spirit that I have seen 

May be the Devil: and the Devil hath power 
T' assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps, 
Out of my weakness and melancholy 
(As he is very potent with such spirits) 
Abuses me to damn me. I '11 have grounds 
More relative than this : the play 's the thing, 
Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the King." — Act II. Sc. 2. 

The natural eye, when the sunlight streams in at a 
window, or some small crevice, can see very fine particles 
of dust floating in the air, which are wholly invisible 
beyond the stream of light : yet this dust is a gross cloud 
of solid particles, compared with the air itself, which, though 



SCIENCE OF MATTER. 417 

a fluid mass of atoms, is yet utterly invisible to human 
sight, even with the aid of the most powerful microscope. 
The blue sky that we see is not so much the air as the 
totality of a stratum forty five miles thick ; whilst the sub- 
stance of any spiritual body must be infinitely more subtil 
than the air, else it might be bottled like a gas, and ex- 
amined by the chemist. Nevertheless, we can easily imag- 
ine an eye to be so constituted as to be capable of seeing 
such an object ; but it would necessarily be a superhuman 
eye. Such an eye and such a form are supposed in the 
" Tempest," when the supernatural magician, Prospero, 
says to his invisible Genius, Ariel — 

" Go, make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; 
Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible 
To every eye-ball else." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

In truth, modern science ascertains that all matter that: 
we know of, even the most solid rocks of the mountains, 
can be melted down and resolved into gases more invisible 
than the air we breathe. Some gases are so thin as to be 
scarcely ponderable in any balance that can be constructed 
by human art. The ether that fills interplanetary space, 
retards comets, is the medium of transmission of the radi- 
ating waves of light and heat, and is supposed to pervade, 
or to traverse, the most solid bodies, escapes all scrutiny of 
scientific instruments and experimentation. Electricity, 
though appearing in some respects to act like a fluid, and 
imagined by some to consist of infinitesimal globules, is 
certainly so subtil and ethereal as to be utterly impondera- 
ble by any means yet known ; but, if a stroke of lightning 
could be caught in a pair of scales, its weight, that is, the 
degree and measure of force with which it struck, in that 
particular instance, might be exactly ascertained and set 
down in figures ; and it is questionable whether electricity 
can come under any scientific theory of atoms, or equiv- 
alents, at least, otherwise than as just so many strokes of it 
as have been so weighed and set down : in short, whether it 

27 



418 SCIENCE OF MATTER. 

be not some more direct exhibition of the creative power, 
and itself a pure totality of power, with only a certain 
polarity and a certain duality of positive and negative. 
And motion, a something still further removed from what 
is commonly understood by matter, may be the mere result 
and consequence of a more or less immediate and direct 
exhibition of that same pure power. 

One year, an astronomer raises a new telescope to the 
heavens, that sweeps nine or ten times as much space as 
the largest one did, the year before, and while he and his 
telescope are whirling through the circumference of the 
earth, in a day, and the earth, through its orbit, in a year, 
and the solar system itself is making 17,000 miles or so, in 
an hour, on a circle of the heavens so immeasurable that the 
length of the arc travelled over since the beginning of 
astronomy cannot be distinguished from a straight line, he 
looks across the astronomical history in time and space of 
whole solar systems, and sees, at the remotest reach of his 
new sight, what appears to be a vast nebulous cloud gather- 
ing to a centre, catches it, perhaps, in the first half turn of 
its spiral winding, and reveals a new wonder of creation to 
the eye of physical science. The true philosopher beholds 
with awe this work of the creative power, proceeds with 
reverence to observe and study the mode, manner, and 
method of the proceeding, searches for the cause and law 
of it, and endeavors to penetrate even to the point of origin 
of the new phenomenon ; for he sees it to be at all events 
the work of Him whose thought is reality. A machine 
philosopher resorts to new observation, calculation, and 
experimentation, seeking only to find out the physical laws 
and forces and " the properties of matter," whereby this 
apparent ethereal cloud may condense itself into a solar 
system of revolving globes, thinking, perhaps, that physical 
;laws and forces and a cloud of matter should explain the 
whole affair without more. Empedocles had got as far as 
this about twenty-three centuries ago. 



SCIENCE OF MATTER. 419 

The microscope resolves all vegetable and animal struc- 
tures into architectural compactions of cells, globules, and 
particles ; and it discovers that whole strata of the earth's 
crust are made up of the dead shells of microscopic mol- 
luscs. The geologist takes the earth itself to pieces, layer 
by layer, as an antiquarian would unroll a mummy, down to 
the "flinty ribs" and molten lavas of the inner bowels ; a 
Gregory Watt will hew a block of basalt out of a mountain, 
melt it back into lava, and, in the cooling, by various man- 
ipulation, crystallize it again into all sorts of primitive rock ; 
and the chemist will take all the rocks and minerals of the 
earth and blow them into invisible and imponderable airs, 
until " the great globe itself" under our feet would seem to 
dissolve, — 

" melt, 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew," 

or into a nebulous cloud, under our very eyes, and 

" Leave not a rack behind," — 

not a reek, not so much as an ethereal cometary vapor, 
through which a telescopic star might shine with undimin- 
ished lustre, or even into an invisible, intangible, imponder- 
able, all-pervading ethereal medium ; or rather, not into a 
dew, nor a cloud, nor a reek, nor an ethereal medium, but 
into inconceivable " airy nothing," unless we are to take 
laws and forces, power and law, cause and effect, and living, 
thinking soul, to be something worth investigation also, and 
study metaphysics as well as physics. 

Scientific men consider it established, that light is an 
electrical phenomenon of a luminous body (or another 
mode or degree of one and the same force) ; but electric 
action must be taken as the mediate instrument rather 
than as the primal source of the power. The spherical 
concentric waves travel throughout this undulating ethereal 
medium which is so thin as to be, not only invisible, and 
anexaminable by scientific instruments, but not even to 



420 SCIENCE OF MATTER. 

reflect light ; but nothing travels but motion or power : the 
medium merely vibrates in place, and the motion which 
travels on the waves is merely transmitted power, as if it 
were a flash of thought travelling along a telegraphic wire. 
That travelling force strikes the eye, pursues the optic 
nerve, reaches the mind, and in the collision, delivers its 
message in a sense-perception ; and the modifications of the 
vibration, as breadth of wave, or rapidity of stroke, — the 
differences, — are recognized by the perceiving soul for 
difference of brightness, or of color, or of heat, or of chem- 
ical force, or mechanical power ; for the lighting, heating, 
chemical, and mechanical properties of the sun's rays would 
seem to depend, in like manner, upon certain merely instru- 
mental modifications and differences in the mode of action 
of the one active power. So of sound and hearing, touch, 
taste, and smell : indeed, all sense-perception is of like 
nature. 

It is said, that the French astronomers resisted for a 
time the Newtonian theory of the celestial mechanics, for 
the reason that he was supposed to maintain the idea of 
attraction at a distance, and used that term, instead of grav- 
itation or weight. The objection, as M. Auguste Comte 
thought, was doubtless a good one ; but gravitation, or 
weight, as a last cause, or as any final account of the mat- 
ter, would seem to be no better than attraction ; for gravi- 
tation supposes one body to have the faculty of pushing 
itself toward another body, while attraction supposes one 
body to have the power of pulling another toward itself 
from a distance, whenever it should happen to come suf- 
ficiently within its reach. And so many seem to think. 
Mr. Faraday, however, more lately, recognizing the princi- 
ple of the conservation of force, claims to be on the side of 
Newton himself in rejecting the idea of attraction at a dis- 
tance, and seems willing to include gravitation in the same 
category with light, heat, electricity, magnetism, and other 
modes of force, as being probably but another modification 



SCIENCE OF MATTER. 421 

of one and the same total force, or original active cause, 
proceeding from a common centre of unity ; * and Berkeley, 
long ago, as well as Bacon and others before him as far 
back as Plato at least, clearly saw, that the manner of this 
tendency was not (in the language of Berkeley) " by the 
mutual drawing of bodies," but rather by i: their being 
impelled or protruded, 5 ' and that it might as well be termed 
* impulse or protrusion as attraction " : rather better ; for 
the doctrine of protrusion may admit of a single protrud- 
ing power, or unity in the first moving cause. Bacon pro- 
posed to determine this thing by experiment : " whether 
the gravity of bodies to the earth arose from an attraction 
of the parts of matter towards each other, or was a ten- 
dency towards the centre of the earth." (Nov. Org.) Again 
he says, in the " Intellectual Globe " : " For as to what is 
asserted of a motion to the earth's centre [on the theory of 
attraction], that would be a sort of potent nothing dragging 
to itself such large masses ; whereas body cannot be affected 
except by body." Nevertheless, the commonly received 
notion would do well enough for poetic metaphor : — 

" Cress. Time, force, and death, 

Do to this body what extremes you can, 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very centre of the Earth, 
Drawing all things to it." — Tro. and Cress., Act IV. Sc. 2. 

But while denying that mere empty place, or an imaginary 
mathematical point, could be supposed to have any power 
to draw a distant body toward itself, he seems to have con- 
jectured, at least, that " a dense and compact mass, at a 
great distance from the Earth, would hang like the Earth 
itself and not fall, unless thrust down " ; that is to say, if it 
moved at all, it would necessarily have to be moved by 
some protruding force. Indeed, it is wholly inconceivable 
how the heavenly bodies, or any other, can be drawn towards 

1 Correlation and Conservation of Forces, by Youmans. New York, 1865, 
D. 378-381. 



422 SCIENCE OF MATTER. 

each other by any force going forth out of one to lay hold 
of another at a distance, and draw it toward itself: the very 
idea would seem to be absurd, and fit only for the depart- 
ment of theological incomprehensibilities. They gravitate 
toward each other, undoubtedly, and by virtue of a power 
acting from within, or from a common centre, outwardly, 
a pushing, not a pulling power. In fact, all powers in 
nature would seem to act from within outwards, as Herder 
observed. 

Prof. Airy, it is said, has ascertained, by the experiment 
of weighing a body at the depth of 1260 feet in a coal-pit, 
that this gravitating tendency of one body toward another 
(according to the law of inverse proportion to the square 
of the distance) was greater by the T9000 P ai % when the 
centres of gravity of the two bodies were thus brought so 
much nearer together than they were at the surface : 
whereas on the pulling theory, it should have been less. 
Those who still follow the supposed doctrine of Newton, 
imagine this attracting power to be " always existing around 
the sun and thence reaching forth through space to lay hold 
of any body that may come w T ithin its reach ; and not only 
around the sun, but around each particle of matter that has 
existence." 1 As this is a fundamental point in our whole 
business, let us stop to consider it. 

Now, if this were true, the attracting power that so goes 
forth from around all the particles of matter which com- 
pose that portion of earth 1260 feet thick, that lies above 
the body weighed at that depth, and which, on this theory, 
must draw toward themselves from all directions, would 
tend to lift up the weighed body, counteracting so far the 
pulling force of the mass on the other side of it ; and it 
would weigh less than at the surface : whereas by the 
experiment it actually weighs more. 

On the other theory, that of a power acting from within 
outwards in every body and in every particle of matter, and 
1 Annual of Sci. Bis., by Wells, 1856. 



SCIENCE OF MATTER. 423 

tending to drive or approach them toward each other, at all 
distances, but still directly as the mass and inversely as the 
square of the distance, we have a power the effect of which 
is, necessarily, to keep all the particles of a body compacted 
together toward the centre of gravity of the body with a 
force sufficient to maintain the particular form and consti- 
tution of the body itself, while increasing in each particle 
with proximity, and tending to produce greater density 
toward the centre ; but this tendency toward the centre is 
at the same time restrained, resisted, and limited by that 
power from within each particle which gives it existence as 
a particular form of substance ; thus producing an equi- 
librium of stationary balance among all the particles of the 
body, wherein is the stability and permanence of the body 
as a whole, and the actual density and form of the body : 
hence every variety of form. 

Certain experiments of M. Mosotti on the Epinian 
theory would seem to prove the existence of a force in 
bodies, as he says, " repulsive at the smallest distances, a 
little on, vanishing, afterwards attractive " [or, as he might 
as well have said, protrusive] " and at all sensible distances 
attracting [protruding] in proportion to the inverse square 
of the distance " ; as when a comet is driving toward the 
sun, a repulsive force in the sun, at a certain distance, 
drives back the ethereal vapor into a long tail or streamer, 
while nucleus and tail still hold a course together toward 
the sun. But over and above that exhibition of force which 
is necessary in order to constitute the given body itself, 
there must still be exerted from within the whole body, or 
upon it, outwardly, that certain overplus of force, which is 
necessary in order to give the body its motion of transla- 
tion, or change of relative place, and which moves or drives 
it toward another distant body. This force, as well as the 
other, may always be inversely proportional to the square 
of the distance, and may always be taken, mathematically, 
as a force acting at and from the centre of gravity only: 



424 SCIENCE OF MATTER. 

and hence the stability of a body, a sun, a solar system, a 
stellar system, and an entire universe of systems. 

In short, there being no such thing as an attracting or 
pulling power in the stratum of earth above the weighed 
body, in this experiment, but only a protrusive power and 
motion in the whole Earth as one body, the body weighed 
is left free to tend toward the centre of the Earth by the 
same force and law as at the surface ; and the Earth as a 
whole body has a tendency toward the weighed body, by 
virtue of that controlling overplus of protrusive force which 
is to be taken as acting, on the whole, from the centre of 
gravity of the Earth ; and so the body weighs more be- 
cause the two centres of gravity, the two bodies, are nearer 
to each other, and by virtue of one and the same original 
impelling power. 

This unphilosophical idea of attraction as a pulling 
power has tended to perpetuate a narrow and perverted 
use of the inductive method, and almost to blind the eye 
of science to any true vision, or comprehension, of the 
Baconian induction, which was to be a rational method for 
the true interpretation of Nature. The ancients had con- 
cluded that nothing could be certainly known ; Bacon, that 
nothing could be certainly known, without the right use of 
the senses and the intellect ; and the disciples of attrac- 
tion and of the properties of dead substratum have assumed 
that nothing can be known but by the senses, sensible ex- 
perience, and instrumental experimentation, without much 
help from the intellect. The inductive method as used by 
them is good enough for certain purposes and within limits; 
but it can never arrive at a philosophy of the universe, 
until it be used " universally " with Plato and Bacon, and 
for the actual interpretation of all Nature ; for all the par- 
ticular facts and phenomena together, that are within the 
possible reach of the senses and experimental observation, 
can never constitute a universe, but only, at best, a sort of 
Humboldtian cosmos. By that way alone, the inquirer 



SCIENCE OF MATTER. 425 

can never arrive at any conception of the unity of the 
whole creation ; at least, not until his observation should be 
extended to all the facts of the universe, metaphysical as 
well as physical, and be made to comprehend intellectual 
as well as sensible truth, ascending by the scaling ladder of 
the intellect into the very loftiest parts of nature, and dil- 
igently and perseveringly pursuing the thread of the laby- 
rinth. To the man of mere physical science the universe 
will always be the particular mass of facts, which have 
been observed by the senses and experiment, together 
with some sort of hazy and superstitious theology, or what 
is worse, some kind of materialistic atheism ; and for such 
a man, the idea of a pulling power, or a self-driving power, 
in each heavenly body, and in every particle of matter, will 
explain the observed phenomena well enough for all his 
purposes, and perhaps sufficiently answer the received 
mathematical formulas. The real mathematician, however, 
has, in all ages, come nearest to being a philosopher ; for 
his field lies in the world of pure reason. — mathematics 
being, at bottom, a science of the laws of thought and of 
the dynamics of thinking power. The mere physicist, like 
Democritus, is apt to stop short with atoms ; as if atoms 
were some self-existent living monads, in a state of univer- 
sal disintegration, and endowed each with a sort of long 
feeler and claw, wherewith to reach forth into immensity 
and seize upon whatever came within its reach, in order to 
drag it to itself; or as if each particle of matter were an 
independent self-acting cause, capable of driving itself to- 
ward any other particle, of its own mere motion : — u nay," 
says Bacon, " even that school which is most accused of 
atheism doth most demonstrate religion ; that is, the school 
of Leucippus, and Democritus, and Epicurus : for it is a 
thousand times more credible that four mutable elements, 
and one immutable fifth essence, duly and eternally placed, 
need no God, than that an army of infinite small portions, 
or seeds, unplaced, should have produced this order and 



426 SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

beauty without a divine marshal." And when the true phi- 
losopher has once found these atoms to be merely secondary 
forms of substance, deriving their own existence as such 
as well as all the powers that are active within them from 
the primary and total substance of all substances and 
power of all powers, lying underneath, behind, and within, 
all forms of substance of whatever kind, then is it seen, 
that all power must proceed, and go forth, from one centre 
of unity, as a pushing, driving, developing, sustaining, up- 
holding, and creating power ; and so, that power is not 
primarily exerted from as many original and distinct 
centres as there are bodies, or atoms, in nature, as so many 
drawing, or as so many driving, ultimate forces ; as if all 
being began and ended with atoms ! — " Ac si quicquam in 
Universe- esse possit instar insulce, quod a rerum nexu separe- 
tur "J 1 — or, as if some imaginary being, outside the uni- 
verse, had, in some inconceivable way, created the atoms 
out of nothing, endowed each with a special power of its 
own, and then left them to push, or pull, for themselves ! 
Berkeley exposed the absurdity of this sort of science long 
ago : — " Patet igitur gravitatem aid vim frustra poni pro 
principio motus" 2 So says the Phaedrus of Plato : u The 

beginning of motion is that which moves itself; 

and this is the very essence and true notion of soul " ; 
or, as St. Austin (according to Burton 3 ) expounded out 
of Plato, " a spiritual substance moving itself." 

§ 6. SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

The motions of the planets and of the sidereal spheres, 
as far into the depths of immensity as the remotest visible 
nebula, and down to the slightest irregularity of motion, so 
far as yet observed and studied, are found to be reducible 
to a geometric science of the dynamics of power and the 

i Be Aug. Sclent, L. II. c. 13. 

2 De Mote, Works (Dublin, 1784), II. 125. 

s Anat. of Mel (Boston, 1862), I. 219. 



SCIENCE OF SOUL. 427 

statics of equilibrium, in exact accordance with mathemati- 
cal laws. The phenomena of electricity, magnetism, light, 
heat, sound, chemistry, and indeed all physics, art, design, 
and beauty, admit of numerical expression and a mathe- 
matical nomenclature, in accordance with the laws and for- 
mulas of mathematical science ; for mathematics is nothing- 
else but a science of the law r s of thought, divine or human, 
so far as these laws have ever fallen within the special do- 
main of any mathematician. Nothing is more moral than 
science ; and all science is mathematical. All possible 
creation must be, and is, mathematical : even miracles are 
mathematical. That all bodies should be gravitated, 
weighed, or impelled, toward each other, directly as the 
mass and inversely as the square of the distance, is evi- 
dently necessary to the stability of the universe, in order 
that there may be a Cosmos, instead of a Chaos, or rather 
a total oblivion and nonentity of all things, if that were 
conceivably possible ; for, as in the play, — 

" The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, 
Observe degree, priority, and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Office, and custom, in all line of order " ; 

[Tro. and Cr., Act I. Sc. 3.] 

as Bacon says of true justice in the law, that it is " suum 
cuique tribnere, the law guiding all things with line of 
measure, and proportion " : — 

" Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: 
This prince in justice seizeth but his own." 

Til. And., Act J. Sc. 2. 

Apply any other law, and the planets would < 

" In evil mixture, to disorder wander." — Tro. and Cr., Act I. Sc. 3. 

Chaos is a negative term, expressive of the absence of 
that order which is necessary to produce a cosmos ; that is, 
a partial absence of form and order, not a total negation of 
all form and substance, in the whole, or in any particular 
thing; for that w r ould be oblivion or annihilation of that 



428 SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

whole, or of that particular. The popular idea of matter 
as a sort of dead substratum, possessing of itself certain 
inherent and essential qualities, properties, and laws of its 
own, and, as such, being self-subsistent from eternity, as 
a something distinct from the thinking essence of God, 
though co-eternal with Him, or as subsisting without God, 
and thereby moulding itself into a universe, as if it were 
unnecessary to have any other Creator at all, is a mere 
illusion of unscientific knowledge and uncritical thinking. 
Take a solid block of ice, for instance, and (what is equally 
true in general of a block of basalt, granite, porphyry, or 
any other solid in nature, though every solid may not ad- 
mit of all the stages of form), apply heat, and it becomes 
liquid water, without any change in the quantity of matter ; 
wherein we see that solidity is not an essential quality of 
matter, but an accidental quality, that is, merely a certain 
temporary state of equilibrium of stationary balance in the 
atoms of the mass, at a given temperature. Raising the 
temperature, that equilibrium is overcome, by the applied 
force of heat, and the solid takes on the liquid form. Ap- 
ply a greater degree of heat, and the liquid w 7 ater be- 
comes an invisible gaseous vapor : w T herein we see again 
that liquidity is not an essential, but an accidental, quality 
of matter, being only another state of temporary equilib- 
rium of stationary balance in the atoms of the mass, though 
having a less degree of fydty and permanence of form than 
the solid ice, and an equilibrium, as a whole, which is dis- 
turbed on application of the slightest degree of external 
force. Apply a higher degree of heat to this invisible 
vapor, and it is resolved into two distinct gases, without any 
change again in the quantity of matter. There is a great 
variety of these gases, or gaseous forms of substance, nat- 
ural or artificial, each having its own peculiar properties 
and qualities as such, which are doubtless neither less 
accidental, nor more essential than solidity, liquidity, gas- 
eousness ; but are merely so many other forms of tempo- 



SCIENCE OF SOUL. 429 

rary equilibrium of stationary balance in the given quantity 
of matter, in the whole and in the parts ; until, at last, we 
arrive at the stage in the forms of substance, in which it 
presents itself to our senses and to all our instruments of 
observation no otherwise than as invisible force, or power 
in activity, under laws which are reducible to a mathemati- 
cal science of the dynamics of force, laws of motion, and sta- 
tics of equilibrium ; at which point all our common notions 
of dead substratum have absolutely vanished, and science 
is compelled to drop the expression " indestructibility of 
matter" and to substitute in its place that of ; * the conserva- 
tion of force ;" mathematics, again, in reference to all exter- 
nal nature, being, at bottom, a science of the laws and 
power of Thought, and a metaphysics of creation, remem- 
brance, and oblivion, in the Divine Mind. And so, ac- 
cording to science, as Plato said, 1 matter in itself is without 
Figure, without Quality, and without Species ; it is neither 
a body nor without body, but is the total substance, where- 
in is the possibility of substances or bodies ; and solids, 
liquids, gases, particular minerals, plants, and animals (in 
respect of their bodies), are but temporary and transient 
forms of " stored force," more or less fixed and permanent. 
Let new conditions happen, and other forces, or new chem- 
ical reactions, overcome that fixity, or let the vital or sus- 
taining power be withdrawn, and this stored force is with- 
drawn, or is set free, and passes into other forms of sub- 
stance, reaching therein again, perhaps, a temporary equi- 
librium of stationary balance ; but the mineral, plant, or 
animal, that was, thereby vanishes into oblivion, and ceases 
to be as such. So force ascends, or rather descends, 
through all the stages of form and equilibrium, from think- 
ing power to atom, nebula, solar system, globe, stratum, 
mineral, spore, cell ; and from spore to tree and fruit, and 
from germ-cell to full-grown animal ; and thence back 
again from animal to plant, to mineral, to nebula, to atom, 

1 Works of Plato (Bohn), VI. 260. 



430 SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

to thinking power, in the eternal cycle of creation ; for, as 
in the play : — 

" Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion," 

Tro. and Cr., Act III. Sc. 2. 

This hypothetical chaos of matter without form and order, 
presenting nothing but a certain amount of dead substratum 
and mathematical physics, is that same fantastical super- 
stition which Bacon attributed to the ancients, and that 
same ;i stupid thoughtless somewhat " and " unthinking sub- 
stratum," which Berkeley, that " altogether fine and rare 
man," as Herder called him, than whom a greater philos- 
opher has not lived in England, perhaps, since Bacon down 
to our time, endeavored to exorcise as a visionary phantasm 
(and it ought to have been effectually and forever) out of 
all philosophy. Like Bacon himself, Berkeley was not so 
much a visionary idealist as a Platonic realist. This same 
fantastic superstition still beclouds the imaginations of men 
of science as well as theologians. Nor will any system of 
dynamics and statics ever account for a universe which is 
a cosmos, until it shall rise to a comprehension of the 
dynamics of the Divine Power of Thought thinking a 
cosmos, and those statics of equilibrium, which amount to 
the Divine Remembrance, wherein is the stability of the 
universe so far as stable, and its permanence in so far as 
it is permanent. But over and above the mathematical 
dynamics and statics of mere physicists and " positive " 
science, there is seen by all that look, having eyes to see, 
that order, plan, purpose, artistic design, and divine beauty 
in the creation, which are nowhere in nature, nor anywhere 
else but in the absurd fantasies of men, the work of any- 
thing but artistically creative thought. 

Humboldt, setting forth the Aspects of Nature with 
scientific reference to physical laws and forces, and noting 
everywhere a certain conformity of the vegetable and 
animal kingdoms to existing physical conditions, dwells 



SCIENCE OF SOUL. 431 

with the admiration of the poet upon the singular beauty 
of the palm, towering far above the surrounding forest, in 
the valley of the Amazon ; and he enters into an elaborate 
consideration of the physical forces acting from within the 
plant, outwardly, against the opposing external forces, under 
natural laws and physical conditions, and in accordance 
with mathematics, in the exact balance of which, the tree 
at length stands forth a Palm. But there is observable 
here, also, what is apparent in that balance of forces, this 
striking fact, that the tree with its foliage, flow T ers, and 
fruit, (which might have taken many other and perhaps 
ugly shapes, under these same conditions, and in an exact 
balance of forces, too.) in fact, comes forth in just that 
outline which makes it an object of exquisite beauty, ex- 
hibiting an artistic form and a design so admirable that the 
most skilful human artist is unable to surpass it, in his 
conception, or on the canvas. And at the same time, under 
the same general laws and conditions, and in varying par- 
ticular conditions, come forth, also, all the artistic variety 
and beauty of an Amazonian forest ; as if not a mere 
mathematician, much less a blind, accidental balance of 
forces, but a mathematical artist, had done it ; for it is 
essentially, from the first germ-cell to the full-grown tree, 
Artist-Mind work. 

If an artist will sculpture an Apollo, he first conceives 
the idea, or image, of an Apollo in his mind. If another 
man were endowed with a faculty of vision to see into his 
mind, as he actually sees into the mind of the Creator, he 
would behold the Apollo standing therein as a fact as in- 
dubitable as the palm on the banks of the Amazon. The 
artist can hold the imaged conception there as long as he 
can keep his mind fixed on thinking the object ; that is, as 
long as he can actually remember it. If he change his 
thought, and let the conception vanish, he may by recol- 
lection re-create it, or he may create another in its place ; 
or, if he please, he may, with his chisel, transfer and fix his 



432 SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

creation upon a block of marble. The absolute Artist-Mind 
needs no marble, nor other substance, on which to stamp 
and maintain his creations, than the divine Remembrance 
and that same stuff, of which the human artist's Apollo was 
made, when it stood forth, like a dream, in his conception 
only, — the power of thought in action, which is substance 
giving form to itself, and material enough for the works of 
the Creator. 

There is a difference between Remembrance and Memory, 
as there is, also, between Memory and Recollection. All 
created things, that is, all ideas or conceptions, must be 
coordinated in Time and Space. Coordination in reference 
to space is in one space, or in a series of spaces, out of all 
possibility of space. Coordination in reference to time is 
in one time, or in a serial succession of times, out of all 
possibility of time. There may be a space, or a series of 
spaces, in one time ; and a time, or a succession of times, 
in one space, By no possibility can there be a serial suc- 
cession of spaces in one and the same space and time, nor 
a succession of times in one and the same time and space ; 
in either case, there would continue to be exact identity, 
with no possibility of change or difference. As touching 
the divisibility of any conceivable space, or time, however 
small, the possibility of such supposed divisibility would 
cease precisely at the point where the given space and 
time (for there can be no space without a time, nor any 
time without a space,) should begin to be bounded out of 
immensity and eternity, the possibilities of space and time ; 
that is to say, at the point of no space and time, or non- 
existence of the conception, which is exactly the point of 
commencement of the activity of the power of thought in 
giving existence to the conception as a creation in time and 
space, in the work of thought in the creation of a particular 
thing, or of a variety of things coordinated in the unity of 
the creating power. But a succession which was in many 
s uccessive times, and in one and the same space, or series 



SCIENCE OF SOUL. 433 

of spaces, or in a changing series of spaces, may be trans- 
ferred, — shifted round, as it were, — in the mind into a 
serial successive order of as many spaces, or series of spaces, 
in this one time, now, as there were times and their spaces 
in any past time, or in the whole succession of times ; and 
this is Memory. All the facts and events, perceptions and 
conceptions — the whole thought — of a man's life, have 
had existence in space, either in his mind alone, or in 
external nature and his mind, and succession in time in his 
consciousness. If he bring them up in his mind in one 
view, at this one time, now, the series will stand in his 
conception as a serial order of as many spaces as there were 
times of the facts and events, perceptions and conceptions, 
and their spaces, in the succession of time in the course of 
his life ; and his mental vision will see the whole in one 
view. Remembrance proper is the power to do this effec- 
tually and continuously ; a power, which no finite mind 
fully possesses. In the work of memory, we conceive or 
create a space, or series and successions of spaces, in the 
mind, in the present time, corresponding to those which 
were in nature and fact, or in our previous thought, in a 
past time, or times in succession, and contemplate them 
anew ; for Time and Space are but laws of thought giving 
the forms and outlines of conceived, created, and remem- 
bered conceptions or things. If a space, or series of spaces, 
which was in any past time, as a house seen twenty years 
ago, be merely thus re-called, re-created, and re-produced 
in the mind, in this present time, the space or series of 
spaces, giving or constituting the form of the house, which 
existed then as a part of the phenomena of the existent 
universe external to himself, (or if, of his own thought and 
in his own mind only, as his former ideas,) will now. stand 
in his conception as so many corresponding ideal spaces in 
his present view ; and this is simple Recollection. 

Now, if, in either case, the mental view be directed upon 
the whole series at once, the mind sees and remembers the 

•28 



434 SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

whole as such ; and if the attention, that is, the finite and 
particular power of thought, which constitutes the soul, be 
directed upon any particular portion of the series, out of 
the whole field of the finite thought and knowledge, he 
remembers, or recollects, that portion only ; the rest stands 
not re-created, not seen, and therefore, forgotten, and, for 
the time being, as if it never had been. The want of power 
to bring up the whole array, or any particular portion of it, 
is a want of memory of that whole, or that portion, which 
has thereby passed into irretrievable oblivion. And herein 
lies the strength, or weakness, of the memory : it depends 
upon the habit and continuous intensity of the power of 
thought itself, first, in observing, that is, perceiving and 
conceiving accurately and distinctly the things to be remem- 
bered ; secondly, on frequent re-creation, re-production, and 
contemplation of them, with the aid of association and all 
other aids ; and, thirdly, on the given power of thought 
itself, wherein, at last, is the faculty of re-creation of con- 
ceptions, and recognition of their correspondence and iden- 
tity with what has been in the mind before, and perhaps 
never lost entirely out of remembrance. In total oblivion, 
all is absolute nonentity and as if it had never been ; being 
vanished into " airy nothing." If this faculty of memory 
were as powerful in man as in God, human memory would 
rise to the absolute power and continuity of the Divine 
Remembrance, and all things which he should desire and 
determine to remember and keep in existence in his thought 
and contemplation, out of all the facts and events, percep- 
tions and conceptions, — the thought and knowledge of his 
life, — would be ever present and clear to his conscious- 
ness. Omniscience belongs only to the Creator. 

The mastodon has ceased to exist : his bones only re- 
main. They, only, continue to be remembered, and so held 
and carried forward in the divine remembrance, in a certain 
changing permanency, as fit material for the construction 
of a rind of globe, while at the same time furnishing a sufH- 



SCIENCE OF SOUL. 435 

cient record for our reading. The animal that was is other- 
wise vanished utterly into oblivion. We may gather up the 
remembered relics of him, together with the remaining 
traces of his time and country, and, out of these materials 
and such analogies as can be drawn from whatever else we 
know, re-create him in our own minds as nearly as we can, 
as a Cuvier approximately re-constructs and restores an 
extinct fauna of a buried age. The difference between the 
pictured human creation as restoration and the living reality 
of past time, being a sort of imperfect reminiscence, may 
help us to realize how vast, and of what nature, is the 
difference between the human and the divine creator. 

Again, let superficial science take the animal kingdom 
now existent on the surface of the globe, and arrange the 
whole on a horizontal base-line, in a linear branching series, 
according to the order of ascent and succession in the scale 
of being of the ideal types, in a true and complete zoological 
classification (and it will be all the same, whether embry- 
ology, with Agassiz, or the nervous system, with Owen, be 
taken as basis), from the lowest cell-animalcule up to man, 
placing the animal cell toward the horizon ; and then let 
deep science turn the distal end of the series downward 
to a right angle in the direction of a radius to the Earth's 
centre ; suppose it to reach through a complete series of 
all the geological formations that have anywhere been laid 
down, so as to represent a continuous zoological province, 
even from that lowest fossiliferous stratum in which the 
first animal cell came into existence (and you may be sure 
there is such a stratum, though no geological observer has 
ever yet found in it any fossil remains of such primitive 
animalcules) ; and you will find, on comparison, that there 
is a very exact correspondence, if not absolute identity, in 
the order of succession, or setting in, of the more general 
ideal types (as of Branch, Class, Order,) between the super- 
ficial series of zoological classification and the fossil branch- 
ing series of actual nature in geological time ; that is. 



436 SCIENCE OF SOUL. 

between the series of this one time now, and its serial suc- 
cession of spaces, and that of the serial succession of times 
past, and their accompanying spaces on the successively 
existent surfaces of the globe. So we have in space here, 
now, what was in time there, then ; and this, for us, is 
a kind of reminiscence after the manner of Plato and 
Bacon. 

You will observe, also, a general correspondence, or 
resemblance, in the more general types themselves, but 
with differences increasing in amount, more and more, in 
the direction of the lesser and subordinate types (as of 
genera and species), distributed throughout the whole 
branching series, and running out into final extinction in 
the lesser types of genera, species, and individuals. The 
identity or resemblance may be said to measure the con- 
tinuity of the divine remembrance, in respect of these ideal 
types. The differences exhibit the amount of change in the 
divine mind, or oblivion of old and creation of new, in that 
vast series of times and in that almost infinite series of 
terrestrial spaces successively existing in these times ; in 
which, a few of the more general types, many of the lesser, 
and nearly all genera and species down to the later periods, 
have, from time to time, vanished into oblivion, while many 
new types, especially the lesser, have come into existence. 
Indeed, only one, the most general type of all, the cell, 
wherein is the unity and starting-point of the whole, spans 
the entire series in absolute continuity; for, in that, the 
divine remembrance has been continuous from the very 
beginning. And it matters not, that the work of creating 
new cells, or that new (sometimes called " spontaneous ") 
generation of new individuals of the lowest forms of animal 
life, has continued to run along dow T n the base of the pyramid 
of the animal kingdom from the beginning of animal life 
to the present day ; for the ideal type in them, for the most 
part, continues the same, and the innermost laboratory of 
God and Nature is never closed. And so have continued 



SCIENCE OF SOUL. 437 

the types of branches since they once began, or of classes, 
or orders, or, it may be, of some genera, and even of some 
species, in a continuous and unbroken line of linear descent. 
An exact and complete natural history, that should be, like 
that contemplated by Bacon, " a high kind of natural 
magic," * would exhibit to our view the actual course of the 
divine thought in the creation of an animal kingdom : and 
this, again, would be a kind of reminiscence in us. 

In like manner, let superficial science take the existing 
human races, down to the anthropoid apes, and arrange 
them in one linear branching series, somewhat as in a lineal 
tree of family descent, according to ideal type and rank in 
the scale of being, as if you should place in line a large 
family of children in the order of their ages, from the man 
of twenty-one down to the child creeping on all fours ; and 
the deep science of actual nature will show that the series 
truly represents in general the order of succession and dis- 
tribution in which the several races or types of men have 
come into existence on the earth ; for, the races, like the 
children of a family, and indeed the whole animal king- 
dom, may be said, at last, to be strung on the great um- 
bilical cord or branching ideal thread of embryological 
evolution ; along which takes place the gradual transition 
of type, or what Bacon calls u a transmutation of species."* 
The Apes begin to appear in the Eocene ; Man has been 
found near the beginning of the Pleistocene, and doubtless 
existed in the Pliocene, and may possibly yet be found as 
far back as the Miocene. Actually observed facts are not 
yet sufficient to enable us to assign the exact order of the 
fossil succession in actual nature, but enough is known, 
already, to warrant the conclusion, on the whole, which is 
also borne out by the analogies of all the rest of the fossil 
zoology and the known principles of living zoology, that the 
race which is lowest in the scale of creation, on the present 
surface of the earth, is likewise the oldest in geological 

1 Nat. Hist. § 93. 2 N a t. Hist. § 525. 



438 ALL SCIENCE. 

time. The older and inferior races run out into extinction 
and disappear, as the newer and superior come forward : in 
the order of divine providence, the old passes into oblivion 
as the new appears. 

Says GeofFroy Saint-Hilaire, " I take care not to lend to 
God any intention : I pretend only to the character of the 
historian of what is" It is not probable that the Creator 
has occasion to borrow intentions from any mortal. It may 
be, that in searching for " final causes " men have looked, 
as it were, through the wrong end of the telescope : through 
the direct scope of intellectual vision (Sapience), the pri- 
mal efficient and essential cause is seen to be intelligent, 
divine, and enough. What we have to do, is, undoubtedly, 
to observe the fact, and to open our eyes that we may see ; 
for, as Bacon says, " the Wisdom of God shines forth the 
more wonderfully, when Nature does one thing, and Prov- 
idence elicits another, as if the character of Providence 
were stamped upon all forms and natural motions." 1 

§ 7. ALL SCIENCE. 

Physical science cannot help being also metaphysical 
science. Most scientific methods and men seem to ignore 
metaphysics altogether ; and but few scientific societies 
admit a department of metaphysics into their constitu- 
tion ;< — as if metaphysics and moonshine were synonymous 
terms. But in all ages as now the greatest men of science 
have been also metaphysicians, who have recognized the 
truth, more or less clearly, that all physical inquiry leads 
directly into that realm of universals and pure metaphysics, 
wherein the universe has to be contemplated as the actual 
thought of a Divine Thinker. Says one of these (not 
among the least distinguished of our time) : " The true 
thought of the created mind must have had its origin from 
the Creator ; but with him, thought is reality ; " 2 and again, 

1 De Aug. Sclent., L. III. c. 4. 

2 Address of Prof. Peirce, 1854. 



ALL SCIENCE. 439 

" It seemed to him the only way for us to understand the 
organization of the universe was that by which we must un- 
derstand any human work. We would not understand a play 
of Shakespeare, until we tried to construct it over again for 
ourselves. Then and then only could we understand how 
all the parts of the play belonged together. So with regard 
to the work of the Deity ; it was not possible for us to 
understand this as an organization, until we looked at it 
from the point of view of the Creator."' * Another distin- 
guished light of science discourses concerning animals, 
thus : " The very nature of these beings and their relations 
to one another and to the world in which they live exhibit 
thought, and can therefore be referred only to the imme- 
diate action of a thinking being, even though the manner 
in which they were called into existence remains for 
the present a mystery ; " and again, " This growing coin- 
cidence between our systems and that of nature shows 
further the identity of the operations of the human mind 
and the Divine Intellect." 2 Again, speaking of the entire 
animal kingdom, " When we came to the conviction that this 
whole was the combination of these facts in a logical man- 
ner, and as whatever intelligence we had was derived from 
Him and in His image, that coincidence made it possible 
for us to understand his objects." 3 

That coincidence must be considered, of course, as ex- 
tending to all the fundamental and eternal laws of artisti- 
cally creative thought. These laws and modes of action 
being the same for all thought, and soul or thinking power 
being everywhere essentially identical in nature, created 
objects in nature are transferred to our minds as copied 
conceptions, as it were ; and the copy is formed in the mind, 
on the data given in sensation, by a power of the same 
nature, acting under the same laws and in the same modes 

1 Prof. Peirce on Analytic Morphology, Ann. Sci. Disc. 1856. 

2 Agassiz; Contrib. to Nat. Hist of N. Amer., I. 13-23. 

3 Agassiz {Ann. Sci. Disc. 1856). 



440 ALL SCIENCE. 

as that by which the original is itself conceived and created, 
differing only in degree of power and in extent and scope 
of conscious intellectual vision, as the finite and special 
must differ from the infinite and absolute ; and the copied 
conception will be as accurate, true, and complete as the 
observation is thorough, particular, and exact, and the sense- 
perception distinct, and no more so. And these concep- 
tions will be as lasting and permanent as the power of 
memory is intense and the will strong. Hamlet must have 
understood the matter much in the same way, when he 
said : — 

" Remember thee ? 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I '11 wipe away all. trivial fond records, 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
That youth and observation copied there, 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter." — Act II. Sc. 5. 

Observation by the senses and by instruments in aid of 
the senses, actual sensible experience, necessarily has a 
limit ; but that limit by no means ascertains and fixes the 
bounds of all certain and scientific knowledge. The mind, 
by its own original power of thought, is able not only to 
grasp the laws and modes of its own special activity, in a 
critical analysis of the mental phenomena as facts, and in a 
sound psychology, but also to arrive at a knowledge therein 
of the true nature of cause or power, of matter or sub- 
stance, of thought itself, and by that means to transcend 
that limit of sensible experience, and to advance beyond 
the field of physical inquiry into the region of purely met- 
aphysical fact and universal laws, and by the study of these 
further facts and laws as a matter of intellectually observed 
truth, to attain to a rational comprehension of the true 
nature of that uncaused power that creates the universe ; 
and, at last, to see, that the whole must, and does, exist as 
the actual thought of a Divine Thinker, and not otherwise. 



ALL SCIENCE. 441 

As Bacon expresses it, " all learning is knowledge acquired, 
and all knowledge in God is original " ; that is, with him, 
thought and knowledge are one ; and so, that " the truth 
of being and the truth of knowing is all one." 1 Plato, 
Philo Judaeus, Boethius, Thomas Aquinas, Bruno, Spinoza, 
Hooker, Berkeley, Swedenborg, and many others of the 
olden times as well as of these later days, seem to have con- 
ceived the matter much in the same way. So Bacon must 
have understood the creation : in fact, this is precisely what 
he meant, when he said he trusted his philosophy, when 
fully unfolded, " would plainly constitute a Marriage of the 
Human Mind to the Universe, having the Divine Goodness 
for bridesmaid." 2 In no other way, perhaps, was it ever 
possible for any man to arrive at any comprehensible phi- 
losophy of the universe. Without such a philosophy, the 
observed facts of experimental science can present nothing 
to human intelligence but an incongruous, heterogeneous, 
and incomprehensible mass of particulars — a world of 
facts tumbled together pell-mell ; and hence all those ab- 
surd systems, theological, or atheistical, which have, in all 
times, beclouded the understandings of men. The English 
Astronomer Royal reports his magnetical and meteorologi- 
cal observations as obtained " with the utmost completeness 
and exactitude " ; but he is absolutely " stopped from mak- 
ing further progress by the total absence of even empiri- 
cal theory." His case may be hopeless ; but he is certainly 
entitled to credit for not undertaking to make headway in 
that business by the help of any theory to be derived from 
Biblical theology, the properties of dead substratum, Com- 
tean positivism, or any Queckett-figuring of probabilities, or 
other sort of Babbage-machine philosophy, however useful 
such machinery may be in other matters. 

Even the sixty-two or more simple " undecomposable 
substances," of which, thus far, the globe appears to chem- 

1 Praise of Knowl., Works (Mont.), I- 251. 

2 Delineation Works (Boston), VII. 55. 



442 ALL SCIENCE. 

istry to be constructed, being to the eye of mere physical 
science more or less dense compactions and crystallizations 
of the supposed final elementary atoms into certain mathe- 
matical forms, proportions, and equivalents, called bodies, 
under the processes of analysis, are increasing in number 
in the chemical catalogue, or sometimes diminishing, some 
of them being from time to time resolved into other ele- 
ments, as nitrogen is reported to have been, lately ; thus 
diminishing, or increasing, the number of simples, until we 
are left in absolute uncertainty whether the sum total will 
finally diminish to unity, or increase to infinity ; and all 
these simple substances, if no further resolvable into kinds, 
are yet divisible into parts, as some electricians decompose 
electricity into infinitely little spheres, that spontaneously 
take on a motion of rotation on an axis, and divide each 
sphere into axis, poles, equator, centre, circumference, 
tropics, parallels, meridians, hemispheres ; * but, admitting 
the spheres, we have only arrived at a more primary stage 
of the proximate materials of construction, being as yet 
only secondary forms and modes of substance, even in the 
invisible, imponderable, indecomposable, indivisable ethers. 
And here ends, it would seem, the entire scope of physical 
science, for the present, as to these materials. But then we 
have, further, light, heat, electricity (according to some), 
magnetism, nervous force, gravitation, and mechanical 
power, which are neither ethers, gases, nor clouds of ethe- 
real spheres, at all, but, as it seems, merely correlated and 
convertible forces — ki exponents of different forms of 
force," 2 say the Academicians, — that is, we may suppose, 
degrees and modes of power, which yet acts under laws 
which are found to be mathematical, and, for that matter, 
identical with the laws of power as thought ; and the power 
itself would seem to be identical in nature with the power 
of thought as cause. And so, in the last physical analysis, 

1 De La Rive's Treatise on Electricity, by Walker, London, 1856. 

2 Trans. Roy. Soc, Lond. 1850, p. 62. 



ALL SCIENCE. 443 

and at the last stage of the forms and modes of substance, the 
resolvability, as well as the divisibility, of matter is found 
passing into an actual totality of power, at the point of be- 
ginning of creation, at the very top of Pan's pyramid, where 
the transition is so easy to things divine ; and that power, 
into which all matter is thus resolved, is found to be of the 
nature wholly and absolutely of the power of thought as the 
primal thinking essence and cause of all created things. 
An actual experimental resolution of these simple elements 
into this next stage of degrees and modes of power, and 
these, again, into the still further and last stage of the 
totality of all power, has not as yet been quite effected, per- 
haps, by physical science alone ; though some late experi- 
mentation would seem to amount almost to a sensible dem- 
onstration that the fact must be so. The demonstration 
is rather by the methods of metaphysical science, which 
transcends the limits of sensible experience, rises into the 
region of this totality of all power, and beholds the subject 
from the point of view of the one Eternal Power of Thought; 
for man can do this, being the image of his Maker, and his 
soul being so framed as to be " capable of the image of the 
universal world.'' 

And so, going out with Bacon through physics into met- 
aphysics, we arrive, at last, in the unity and continuity of 
all science, at Philosophy itself, and at the Divine Soul of 
the universe, in an eternal state of living activity in the per- 
petual distribution of variety in the total unity of the creation, 
in the universal flow of the Providential order ; for, says 
Bacon, " the matter is in a perpetual flux," or as Plato 
says, again, " Soul is the oldest and most divine of all 
things, of which a motion, by receiving the generation 
[taking on generation], imparts an ever flowing existence." 1 
Certainly, nothing less than this can give any rational and 
conceivable philosophy of the universe. All science leads 
directly to such a philosophy ; all facts prove its truth ; and 

1 Laws, Works (Bohn), V. 543. 



444 SCIENCE IN POETRY. 

this comprehensible conception is, at least, better than any 
incomprehensible absurdity that ever was, or can be, in- 
vented. The Baconian caution is a good one : that we are 
not to give out " a dream of our fancy for an exemplar of 
the world," but rather, " under divine favor, an apocalyptic 
revelation and true vision of the tracks and ways of the 
Creator in Nature and His creatures." 1 

§ 8. SCIENCE IN POETRY. 

That the author of these plays had arrived at a similar 
view of the constitution of the universe, is made clear in 
many passages. How else can we understand those re- 
markable lines of the " Tempest," in which, having brought 
upon the stage a scene among the gods, and made Juno, 
Ceres, and Iris enact a play before mortal eyes, when all at 
once they vanish at the bidding of the magician, Prospero, 
he makes him say : — 

" These our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air; 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all that it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of; and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

For, this vision of a world and this vision of the stage 
are made essentially in the same manner and of the same 
stuff, are both alike substantial ; and yet, they may vanish, 
like an insubstantial pageant, into oblivion, at the bidding 
of the Great Magician, when his time shall come. 

Again, says Bacon, in the De Augmentis, u This Janus 

of the imagination has too different faces ; for the face 

towards reason hath the print of truth, but the face towards 

action hath the print of goodness " ; an expression, which 

1 Lectori, Works (Boston), VII. 161. 



SCIENCE IN POETRY. 445 

appears again in a letter, in which he prays that, living or 
dying, " the print of the goodness of King James " may be 
in his heart ; x but all Calibans, or other human monsters, 

" turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villainous low," — 

and all Stephanos and Trinculos, " abhorred slaves," that 
" steal by line and level," and 

" Which any print of goodness will not take, 
Being capable of all ill," 

this magician, by the help of his invisible Ariel, would 
soundly hunt out of his kingdom, when his " Genius " should 
have " the air of freedom " ; and his labors would not cease 
until all his enemies were laid at his feet. And he was able 
to make this speech : — 

" Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; 
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets, that 
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, 
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime 
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be) I have bedimm'd 
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azurd vault 
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory 
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, 
Have wak'd their sleepers; oped, and let them forth 
By my so potent art. — But this rough magic 
I here abjure; and when I have requir'd 
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
To work mine end upon their senses, that 
This airy charm is for, I "11 break my staff, 
Bury it certain fadoms in the earth, 
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I '11 drown my book." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

The " Tempest " was nearly the last play written, or perhaps 
i Letter of July 30, 1624, Works (Philad.), III. 24. 



446 SCIENCE IN POETBY. 

the last but one or two ; and his look would seem to have 
been drowned for a long time, and buried so deep as to be 
beyond the reach of any but a ft Delian diver." x 

Well might these deep-sounding revelations and true 
visions of the traces and stamp of the Creator on his 
creations wake up whole books in the soul of Jean Paul 
Richter ! These all-comprehending conceptions could come 
only from the philosopher, the student of Nature as well as 
of Plato, whose thought had fathomed the depths and 
hidden mysteries of the universe, and discovered that " God 
hath framed the mind of man as a mirror or glass, capable 
of the image of the universal world." For, as he says, 
again, " that alone is true philosophy, which doth faithfully 
render the very words of the world, and it is written no 
otherwise than the world doth dictate, it being nothing else 
but the image or reflection of it, not adding anything of its 
own, but only iterates and resounds." 2 In his scheme, 
philosophy is the text, and the universe is the book of 
plates, — the illustration and the proof so far ; that is, as 
far as it is visible and knowable to observation and ex- 
perience : beyond all the scopes of physical science, it is, 
as it were, the book without the plates, and for illustration, 
the reader must, like the mathematician, construct his own 
models, charts, and diagrams. Some men, like children, 
see nothing but the plates, and continue all their lives to 
be dazzled with the pictures, scarcely conceiving that there 
is any text at all ; being capable of nothing but miraculous 
child's fables, mystic revelations, airy charms, and various 
kinds of spirit-playing and spirit-rapping. Things which 
fly too high over their heads must be drawn down to their 
senses. Some others advance to the end of the plates and 
stop there, finding no more proof of any fact, and so think- 
ing that they have arrived at the land's end, because all 
around appears to be open sea ; while some others, again, 

1 Timseus of Plato, 71; De Aug. Trans., Works (Boston), IX. 22. 

2 Wisd.oftheAncts., Works (Mont.), II. 2. 



SCIENCE IN POETRY. 447 

stretch onward, constructing their own plates, charts, com- 
passes, scopes, being born pilots, and finding no end to the 
universe of fact but in the limits of their own lives and 
labors ; sometimes too safely denying more land than they 
can discover. Still others, by the light of superior genius 
shining within them and reflected in the world without 
them, industriously, perseveringly, and fainting not, hold 
still onward, believing yet with such as Bacon, or Columbus, 
that "they are but ill discoverers who think there is no 
land, when they can see nothing but sea" ; — until they run 
against Fate : — 

" Othello. Who can control his fate ? — . . . 
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail." — Act V. Sc. 2. 

Bacon understood how "knowledge is a double of that 
which is," and that " the truth of being and the truth of 
knowing is all one." He considered that " the sovereignty 
of man lieth hid in knowledge," as it is beautifully pre- 
figured in the Prospero of the u Tempest," and he recog- 
nized " the happy match between the mind of man and the 
nature of things, and the science or providence comprehend- 
ing all things" ; as Hamlet saw, that there was " a special 
providence in the fall of a sparrow." He looked upon the 
universe as the book of God's works, and he frequently 
quotes Solomon as saying, " That it is the glory of God to 
conceal a thing, but the glory of a king to find it out, as if, 
according to the innocent play of children, the Divine 
Majesty took delight to hide his works, to the end to have 
them found out " ; * and he says, again, " The spirit of man 
is the lamp of God, wherewith he searcheth the inwardness 
of all secrets." 2 And so says the Soothsayer in the play : — 

" In Nature's infinite book of secrecy, 
A little I can read." — Ant. and Cleo., Act I. Sc. 2. 

Nor did he think it was, in Nature, 
"A juggling trick, — to be secretly open." — Tro. and Cr., Act V. Sc. 2 

1 Advancement. 2 Works (Mont.), XVI. Note 66. 



448 SCIENCE IX POETRY. 

\ 
It is no wonder that Goethe, finding that his own " open 
secret," as well as many other things, for the means of 
comprehending which, he was, as he in some degree ac- 
knowledges, much indebted to the philosophies of Plato, 
Spinoza, and Kant, had been known to Shakespeare as 
well, should pronounce this wonderful Bard of Avon the 
greatest of modern poets. Modern transcendental moralists 
and poets have discovered many new wonders in Shake- 
speare. They have much to say about man being " a 
microcosm," though not always particular to mention that 
the doctrine is as old as Plato, or the fable of Pan, nor that 
Bacon fully comprehended the meaning of that wise saw, 
as any one may see in his interpretation of that fable ; but 
he frequently speaks of the " ancient opinion that man was 
microcosmns" and of " the spirit of man, whom they call 
the microcosm " ; and we have it in the play thus : — 

" Men. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it, that I 
am known well enough, too? " — Co?\, Act II. Sc. 1. 

In the style of poetry, but not less according to the truth 
of philosophy, Goethe images forth the visible universe as 
the " garment " of God : — 

" Spirit. Thus, at the roaring loom of Time I ply, 
And weave the garment which thou see'st him by." 

Bacon, in like manner, interpreting the Fable of Cupid, as 
being intended to shadow forth some conception of the 
Divine Person under the image of Cupid born of the 
egg, hatched beneath the brooding wing of Night, and co- 
eval with Chaos, speaks of the primary visible matter as 
being " the vest of Cupid " ; and a like philosophy seems 
to underlie this passage from the Othello : — 

" Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid 
That paragons description and wild fame; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
And in th' essential vesture of creation 
Does bear all excellency." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

and this, again, from the " Merchant of Venice " : — 



SCIENCE EST POETRY. 449 

" Such harmony is in immortal souls; 
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

And the same idea appears in plain prose thus : — 

" For though we Christians do continually aspire and pant after the land 
of promise, yet it will be a token of God's favour towards us in our jour- 
neyings through this world's wilderness, to have our shoes and garments (I 
mean those of our frail bodies) little worn or impaired." l 

And surely the author of the " Cymbeline " was not far 
from the same conception, when he wrote concerning Ju- 
piter's tablet, delivered down out of his " radiant roof/' 
thus : — 

" [Ghosts vanish. Posthumus wakes, and finds the Tablet.] 

Posih. What fairies haunt this ground ? A book? 0, rare one I 
Be not, as is our tangled world, a garment 

Nobler than that it covers 

[Beads the Tablet] 

'T is still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen 

Tongue, and brain not; either both, or nothing: 

Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 

As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, 

The action of my life is like it, which 

I '11 keep, if but for sympathy." — Act V. Sc. 4. 

Again, Prospero says to Miranda in the " Tempest " : — * 

" Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So: 
Lie there, my art." — Act 1. Sc. 2. 

Materialistic science, on the one hand, and unphilosophi- 
cal theology, on the other, have, in all times, come equally 
short of comprehending the great truth here indicated. 
One thinks there is nothing but the garment, or, at least, 
that the garment covers nothing: the other thinks like- 
wise that the garment covers nothing nobler than itself; 
but that the Maker of it, when it was finished and pro- 
nounced good, plucked it from him and hung it in the 
heavens, and that he has ever since sat apart on a throne 
above his " radiant roof/' contemplating and judging his 

1 Dedication to the Eist. of Life and Death. 
29 



450 SCIENCE IN POETRY. 

handiwork, only occasionally delivering down a miraculous 
tablet; but that his art lasted six days, and ceased alto- 
gether some six thousand years ago. As that book, that 
" rare one," has been more worshipped, in our " new- 
fangled mansions," 1 than what of truth it contains and 
reveals, so, on the other hand, has the physical garment 
been held nobler than that it covers. The ancients knew 
better than this ; for they held with Bacon, Shakespeare's 
plays, Berkeley, Goethe, Jean Paul, and many more mod- 
ern disciples of the Higher Philosophy, that the visible 
world was but the vest of Cupid, the visible manifestation 
of the Invisible Essence, which is eternally weaving the 
web of His physical garment, in the Roaring Loom of 
Time and Space. Indeed, the hieroglyphic Sacred Books of 
the ancient Egyptians seem to read much to the same 
effect, as deciphered by Seyffarth : — "I am that I am. I 
weave the garments (bodies) of men. I am the shining 
garment of the sky. I have fashioned the verdure of the 
earthly pasture. I have woven the hosts of worlds, — the 
High and Holy God. Songs and anthems of praise to the 
Master Architect, who made the world, who made it for the 
habitation of man, the Creator's image." 2 As the highest 
ancient, so the highest modern voice, still exclaims: — "0 
thou unfathomable mystic All, garment and dwelling-place 
of the Unnamed; and thou articulate-speaking Spirit of 
Man, who mouldest and modellest that Unfathomable Un- 
nameable even as we see, — is not there a miracle ! " 3 

Time and Space, as necessary laws of thought, divine or 
human, as fundamental principles or conditions of ideas, 
or things, and those complex keys which alone unlock the 
door of the inner sanctuaries, have tasked the brains of the 
deepest thinkers from Plato and his cave down to Kant, or 
Cousin ; and this author, too, seems to have understood 

1 Bacon's Theory of the Firmament. 

2 Summary (N. York, 1857), p. 65-8. 

3 Carlyle's French Rev., I. 344. 



SCIENCE IN POETRY. 451 

something of their nature. He knew that Time carried a 
wallet at his back wherein he put alms for oblivion ; and 
Imogen, at the departure of Posthumus, watched him, — 

11 till the diminution 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; 
Nay, followed him, till he had melted from 
The smallness of a gnat to air." — Cymb., Act I. Sc. 4. 

And Belarius, leaving his companions at the cave, to as- 
cend the mountains, says to them : — 

" Consider 
When } t ou above perceive me like a crow, 
That it is place which lessens and sets off." 

Ibid. Act III. Sc. 3. 

He understood, too, how things appear great or small to 
mortal eyes, without much reference to what they really 
are in themselves, and that the truest greatness is some- 
times scarcely visible at all to common senses ; as when 
Belarius says to his boys of the forest and mountain : — 

" And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
Than is the full-winged eagle." — lb., Act III. Sc. 3. 

Which may remind the reader of Jean Paul in search of 

happiness, now soaring above the clouds of life, and again 

sinking down under a leaf in a furrow of his garden, or 

rather, again, alternating between the two ; or of Emerson, 

who says : — 

11 There is no great and no small 
To the soul that maketh all." 

But unto " poor unfledged " boys of the forest, that have 
" never wing'd from view o' the nest," it is 

"A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, 
A prison for a debtor, that dares not 
To stride a limit." — lb., Act III. Sc. 3. 

" The common people," says Bacon, " understand not 
many excellent virtues ; the lowest virtues draw praise 
from them ; the middle virtues work in them astonishment 
or admiration ; but of the highest virtues they have no 



$f>2 REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

sense or perceiving at all ; but shows and species virtutibus 
similes serve best with them " ; and so, according to Ham- 
let, the groundlings were, for the most part, " capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise." 

§ 9. REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

The doctrine of Plato, that human knowledge is but 
reminiscence, seems to have taken strong hold of Bacon's 
mind. In the way in which this doctrine is generally stated 
and received, it would appear that Plato conceived the 
human soul to have had an existence, as such, previous to 
its birth into this world, and that, in that former state of 
existence, it was in possession of all knowledge ; and so, that 
the acquisition of knowledge in this world was simply a 
process of recollection or reminiscence of what had been 
better known before. So Origen and some learned fathers 
of the Church seem to have understood him. Burton ex- 
pounds him thus : " Plato in Timaeo and in his Phaedon 
(for aught I can perceive) differs not much from this opinion, 
that it [the soul] was from God at first, and knew all, but 
being inclosed in the body, it forgets, and learns anew, 
which he calls reminiscentia, or recalling, and that it was 
put into the body for a punishment." l It may be doubted 
whether Plato has been correctly interpreted in this : his 
expression is somewhat obscure. Bacon states the doctrine 
a little differently, thus : " That all knowledge is but remem- 
brance, and that the mind of man by nature knoweth all 
things, and hath but her own native and original motions 
(which by the strangeness and darkness of this tabernacle 
of the body are sequestered) again revived and restored." 2 
Here the idea is, that it is the nature of the mind to know 
all things, and what is wanting is, that its native and origi- 
nal powers, for a time overshadowed and repressed, should 
be restored to activity, whereby the strangeness and dark- 

i Anat. of Mel, I. 217 (Boston, 1862). 
2 Adv. of Learn., Works (Mont.), II- 4. 



REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 453 

ness of the tabernacle might be cleared up and ignorance 
disappear. Something of the sound and quality of this 
statement may be discovered as a sort of ground-swell 
rolling underneath the dialogue of the Bishops concerning 
young Henry V., the late wicked Prince Hal, w T ho had all 
at once begun to reason in divinity, and debate of common- 
wealth affairs, w r ar, and any cause of policy : — 

" Cant. Since his addiction was to courses vain; 
His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow; 
His hours filTd up with riots, banquets, sports; 
And never noted in him any study, 
Any retirement, any sequestration 
From open haunts and popularity. 

Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, 
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
Neighbour' d by fruit of baser quality: 
And so the Prince obscur'd his contemplation 
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, 
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 

Cant. It must be so; for miracles are ceas'd; 
And therefore we must needs admit the means 
How things are perfected." — Htn. K, Act 1. Sc. 1. 

And when Prospero is sounding the youthful Miranda as to 
her remembrance of her origin, we have this dialogue : — 

"Pros. Canst thou remember 

A time before we came into this cell? 
I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not 
Out three years old. 

Mir. Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pros. By what? by any other house, or person? 
Of any thing the image tell me, that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mir. 'T is far off, 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not 
Four or five women once, that tended me ? 

Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it, 
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time? 
If thou remember' st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 

Mir. But that I do not." — Act I. Sc. 2. 



454 REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

This is more in keeping with Bacon's statement, and con- 
tains an implied negation of the received interpretation as 
teaching a former existence of the human soul as such ; for, 
certainly, if a man could remember anything before he 
came here, he might also remember how he came. There 
is a certain ambiguity in Plato himself as well as in Bacon, 
Berkeley, and some more modern writers, on this point, 
which arises from the circumstance that they do not always 
clearly and expressly distinguish, when treating of the soul, 
whether they intend to speak of the human soul, or of the 
Divine Soul ; and hence comes the misconception. The 
dialectic method of Plato, pursuing the logical path and 
process of scientific thinking, endeavored to arrive at all 
science in a critical exegesis of those fundamental laws of all 
thought, divine or human, which are the same for all souls. 
All science can be in the divine mind alone ; but the 
human mind as partaker of the universal reason, and being 
endowed with a certain scope of intellectual vision and a 
certain power of thinking, might, by the exercise of that 
power, its native and original motion, in a critical analysis 
of that reason, and in a thorough contemplation of nature, 
approach, if not quite attain to all science, by coming thus 
to a conscious knowledge of all Nature and of the laws and 
modes of creative thought, so be only it were crescive in its 
faculty ; and this method of attaining, or rather reviving, 
knowledge in the soul, was a mere process of recollection 
or reminiscence of what had been known before, — not by 
any means by the human soul in any previous state of 
finite existence, but by the divine mind itself, in which is 
all knowledge always ; as when, in another place, speaking 
of the finite mind only, Plato says, that " recollection is the 
influx of thoughts which had left us." 1 Again, he says, 
"The whole of nature being of one kindred, and the soul 
p. e. the Divine Soul] having heretofore known all things, 
there is nothing to prevent a person [?'. e. a human soul], 
1 Laws, Works (Bohn), V. 151. 



REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 455 

who remembers — what men call learning — only one thing, 
from again discovering all the rest ; if he has but courage 
and seeking faints not. For to search and to learn is rem- 
iniscence all." 1 And so, he says, again, " This is a recollec- 
tion of those things which our soul formerly saw, when 
journeying with deity \i, e, when identical with the Divine 
Soul itself, and previous to any existence as a special soul], 
despising the things which we now say are, and looking up 
to that which really is " ; 2 for while the divine mind con- 
templates only real existence and the actual truth of things, 
the human soul, sequestered as it is under the veil of wild- 
ness in the darkness of the tabernacle, in the short-sighted- 
ness of weak intellectual vision, and in the half-delusive 
purblindness of sense-perception, is, on all sides, limited, 
baffled, deceived, confused, and confounded, by mere ap- 
pearances and illusions, and still more, by the fantasies of 
its own creation. Not, by any means, that it is impossible 
for the human mind, by pursuing in a scientific manner 
either the dialectic method of pure metaphysics, or the 
experimental, inductive, and interpretative method of phys- 
ical science — by travelling either road — to compass, at 
length, "the order, operation, and Mind of Nature," and to 
arrive, at last, at a scientific knowledge of the actual con- 
stitution of the universe and of the order of divine Prov- 
idence in it, in a sound and true philosophy, which shall 
amount to universal science, or Sapience. But in this the 
inductive method must be understood in Bacon's way ; for, 
with him, it was not any form of syllogism, nor any system 
of logic, nor any mere experimentation, observation, or 
experience of isolated and heterogeneous facts, with endless 
descriptions and catalogues, but a method for the actual 
interpretation of nature, using both the senses and the 
intellect, by the help of which the observer should get to 
see the facts, whether by the senses, instruments, experi- 

1 Meno, Worlcs (Bohn), III. 20. 

2 Phmdrus, Worlcs (Bohn), I. 325, 



456 REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

ments, analyses, scopes, or in any other way, and then 
should be enabled to read, conceive, understand, compre- 
hend, and know, what they are, and what they mean ; in 
which he would have need of the faculty of intellectual 
vision and metaphysical insight, if he would expect to 
become a true Interpreter of Nature. He takes especial 
care to make the distinction everywhere between nature 
considered in reference to the human observer, and nature 
in reference to the divine mind creating nature : — 

" There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
With great creating Nature " ; — 

and he cautions the student against " that grand deception 
of the senses, in that they draw the lines of nature with 
reference to man and not with reference to the universe ; 
and this is not to be corrected except by reason and uni- 
versal philosophy." 1 

But in either way, illusions must be distinguished from 
realities, appearance from essence, sophism from logical 
thinking, truth from falsehood, external fact and eternal 
truth from the visionary creations of the uncritical fancy, 
until the intellectual eye shall come to see all science cor- 
rectly, or until the eye of science and sense-perception, by 
thorough and complete observation, searching matter and 
phenomena to the bottom, shall come to see all the differ- 
ence between reality and appearance, cause and effect, 
living substance and dead substratum (the last illusion that 
will vanish), and arrive at last by that road at a true knowl- 
edge of " the last and positive power and cause of nature," 
that self-existent and uncaused power that creates the whole 
and is all in all ; when these physical eyes shall discover 
that they have been, or can be, nothing more than helps to 
the intellectual vision, which alone can clearly see, with 
Plato, that " all existences are nothing else but power," and 
power of the nature wholly of that power of thought, or 

1 Works (Boston), VIII. 283. 



REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 457 

soul, which moves itself, and imparts an everflowing exist- 
ence, thinking a universe. 

And here it is, upon this common platform, that the two 
roads meet. Royal Societies and National Institutes are 
beginning to find, after some centuries of busy search and 
experimentation, that there is nothing left of matter but 
" laws and forces " ; that these are mathematical ; and that 
the great powers in nature are but " exponents of different 
forms of force," or modes of power : wherein the swelling 
waters of our sea of science begin to approach the same 
level to which they had risen in Plato, with a fair prospect 
that they may finally reach, with Bacon, the spring-head 
and fountain source of all philosophy. For physicists and 
metaphysicians are like two ships' companies sailing on a 
great circle around Bacon's Intellectual Globe, starting off 
in opposite directions, but sure to meet at the antipodes in 
one and the same land of promise, when 

" The wheel is come full circle." — Lear, Act V. Sc. 3. 

Nor did either Bacon, or Plato, imagine it was possible 
for all men, by either method of procedure, to attain to a 
complete understanding of all science, much less to a per- 
fect knowledge of God and divine things. " A matter of 
that kind," says Plato, " cannot be expressed by words, like 
other things to be learnt, but by a living intercourse w r ith 
the subject, and living with it a light is kindled on a sud- 
den, as if from a leaping fire, and being engendered in the 
soul, feeds itself upon itself." * No more would Bacon re- 
peat the offence of Prometheus against Minerva, and incur 
danger of the penalty of a perpetual gnawing of his liver, 
— being no other, says he, than " that iivto w T hich men not 
unfrequently fall when puffed up with arts and much 
knowledge, — of trying to bring the divine wisdom itself 
under the dominion of sense and reason : from which at- 

l Epistle to Dionysius, Works (Bonn), VII. 524. 



458 REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

tempt inevitably follows laceration of the mind and vexation 
without end or rest." * 

At any rate, the statement of Bacon would seem to ad- 
mit of a construction something like this : that previous to 
the first appearance of the soul in a finite body and form, 
(at whatever precise point in the flow of the physical 
stream, that may take place,) it was identical with the in- 
finite soul itself, and, as such, possessed of all knowledge : 
in other words, the finite soul is a special exhibition of the 
one divine power of thought itself, invested for the time being 
in a visible physical body, or as it may very well be, also, 
hereafter, in a spiritual or ethereal invisible physical body, 
and limited in that manner on the physical side so far only 
as to give the exact objective individuality of body, and in 
a special way on the side of its own origin, and in such 
manner as to give the exact subjective speciality, — " soul 
and body compounded " ; the definite personality arising in 
the concurrence of the two kinds of limitation. Then, as 
to the divine power of thought itself (for, says Bacon, speak- 
ing of this power, u knowledge is a power whereby he 
knoweth "), remembrance would be co-extensive with the 
existent creation and identical with knowledge in God; 
and ceasing to remember and know would be oblivion, or 
annihilation of what was so forgotten. And so, likewise, 
says Plato, " do we not call this oblivion, Simmias, 
the loss of knowledge ? " 2 What the finite mind could 
remember and know would be its own creations and ac- 
quired knowledge, whether it were acquired by the dialectics 
of scientific thinking, or by observation and experience ; 
and so, what the human mind can come to know, would be, 
for the man himself, acquired knowledge, though, when 
speaking in relation to the universal soul, it might be called 
a kind of reminiscence. So far, then, as human knowledge 
may go, it may be called knowledge, or reminiscence, as 

1 Prometheus, Works (Boston), XIII. 155, 

2 Phadon, Works (Bohn), I. 77, 



REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 459 

we speak with reference to the one mind or the other. All 
knowledge is, and must be, in remembrance. Beyond this 
extent of human knowledge, all is oblivion, and as if it 
were not, for the finite man ; and beyond the whole pres- 
ent state of the divine thought, which is the existent uni- 
verse, and beyond the eternal continuity of the divine 
Existence and his pow r er to think and create, all is oblivion 
and utter nonentity. " It is an effect of one and the same 
omnipotency," says Bacon, " to make nothing of somewhat 
as to make somewhat of nothing " ; that is, to think some- 
thing into existence which did not exist before as such 
thing, or to let it vanish again into oblivion, according to 
the " tw T in propositions : nothing is produced from nothing, 
and nothing is reduced to nothing." But in this, we must 
all the while keep in view the essence, the very substance, 
of the thing, and not merely the temporary form : the sub- 
stance is withdrawn, and the form vanishes. 

The acquiring of knowledge, then, in man, is not exactly 
a process of reminiscence or recollection of what he ever 
knew before as a special soul : more strictly, for him, it is 
a process of getting to see, understand, and know, so 
far, w T hat is remembered, thought, and done, in the divine 
mind ; and, if possible, that he himself exists, and how, and 
that God and the universe exist, and in what manner ; all 
which, by the strangeness and darkness of this tabernacle 
of the body, has been very much sequestered. As to the 
finite mind, its own remembered creations constitute a part 
of its knowledge, and they are created in that same blank 
region of All Possibility, in which the universe itself is 
created, and its forge ttings are added to that same dark 
blank of oblivion into which all forgotten things go, and 
which the ancients endeavored to figure to their imagina- 
tions under the form of that boundless shadow, the brood- 
ing wing of Night. 

That something like this w r as Bacon's conception of the 
nature of remembrance and oblivion, is evident in numer- 



460 REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

ous passages in his writings. Here is one : — " Solomon 
saith, There is no new thing upon the earth. So that as 
Plato had an imagination, That all knowledge ivas but remem- 
brance, so Solomon giveth this sentence, That all novelty is 
but oblivion. Whereby you may see that the river of 
Lethe runneth as well above ground as below." He cites 
further the opinion of u an abstruse astrologer," that " if it 
were not for two things that are constant (the one is, that 
the fixed stars ever stand, and never come nearer together, 
nor go farther asunder ; the other, that the diurnal motion 
perpetually keeps time), no individual would last one mo- 
ment " ; and, he adds, " certain it is that the matter is in a 
perpetual flux, and never at a stay." In the Pythagorean 
doctrine of Palingenesia, souls went from one body into 
another, first having drunk of the water of Lethe, — 
11 epotd prius Lethes unda" 

This same Lethean doctrine of strangeness, darkness, 
and oblivion appears very often in the plays also. The 
ghost coming up from below, where the river of Lethe 
runs under ground, says to Hamlet : — 

" I find thee apt; 
And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
Would'st thou not stir in this : now Hamlet, hear." 

Act I. Sc. 5. 

And this saying of Solomon may be traced in the fol- 
lowing lines from the Sonnets : — 

" If there be nothing new, but that which is, 
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, 
Which laboring for invention bear amiss 
The second burthen of a former child? " — Son. lix. 

And again, in these : — 

" No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change. 
Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; 
They are but dressings of a former sight." 

Son. cxxiii. 



REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 461 

The strangeness as well as the darkness of the taber- 
nacle seems to have been borrowed from Plato, who says, 
" what is strange is the result of ignorance in the case of 
all " ; and the play repeats it thus : — 

" Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness but ignorance; 
in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog." — Twelfth 
Night, Act IV. Sc.2. 

And the forest home of Belarius's boys was to them 

"A cell of ignorance." 
And this same doctrine of novelty and oblivion under- 
lies, no less subtly, these passages from the " Measure for 
Measure " : — 

" Escal. "What news abroad i' the world? 

Duke. [In disguise.'] None, but that there is so great a fever on good- 
ness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and 
it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be 
constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make 
societies secure, but security enough to make fellowships accursed. Much 
upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, 
yet it is every day's news." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

" Duke. [In person.] 0, your desert speaks loud ; and I should wrong it, 
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 
When it deserves with characters of brass 
A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time, 
And razure of oblivion." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

Again, it appears thus : — 

" Or at the least, so long as brain and heart 
Have faculty by nature to subsist, 
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd." 

Son. cxxii. 

Tt must have suggested the imagery of these lines : — 

" When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy, 
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
And mighty States characterless are grated 
To dusty nothing." — Tro. and Cr., Act III. Sc. 2. 

And the careful student will discover numerous and very 
significant traces of this strangeness and darkness of ig- 



462 REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 

norance, this sequestration of the tabernacle, and these 
subtle doctrines and riddles of Lethe and oblivion, and 
some other notable things, in the great play of " Troilus and 
Cressida " ; of which a few instances only may be specially 
noticed : — 

" Cal. Appear it to your mind, 

That, through the sight I bear in things to Jove, 
I have abandon' d Troy, left my possession, 
Incurr'd a traitor's name; exposed myself, 
From certain and possess'd conveniences, 
To doubtful fortunes: sequestering from me all 
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
„ And here, to do you service, am become 

As new into the world, strange, unacquainted." 

Act J IT. Sc. 3. 

At the suggestion of Ulysses, Agamemnon and the princes 
all " put on a form of strangeness " as a trick upon Achil- 
les to humble his pride; and Achilles discourses very 
sagely, thus : — 

" Acliil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here in the face, 
The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself 
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself, 
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd 
Salutes each other with each other's form: 
For speculation turns not to itself, 
Till it hath travell'd, and is married l there 
Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all." 

Act III. Sc. 3. 

This seems to be very much like that " marriage of the 
human mind to the universe," in which the divine goodness 
was to be " bridesmaid." 

" Ulys. I do not strain at the position, — 
It is familiar, — but at the author's drift; 

1 So read the Folio and Quarto ; but Mr. White, with Singer, adopting 
Collier's forgery on the Folio of 1632, substitutes the word mirrored; 
which I think he would not have done, if he had understood the profound 
metaphysical meaning of Bacon's " marriage " of the mind to things, and 
his use of the word ; for, that the true reading is married, as the Baconian 
sense requires, I have no doubt. See White's Shakes., IX., Notes, 155. 



REMEMBRANCE AND OBLIVION. 463 

"Who in his circumstance expressly proves, 

That no man is the lord of anything, 

(Though in and of him there be much consisting,) 

Till he communicate his parts to others: 

Nor doth he himself know them for aught 

Till he behold them form'd in th' applause 

Where they 're extended; who, like an arch, reverberates 

The voice again ; or like a gate of steel 

Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 

His figure and his heat." — Act III. Sc. 3. 

" It is an excellent invention," says Bacon, expounding 
the fable of Pan, iL that Pan, or the world, is said to make 
choice of Echo only above all other speeches or voices for 
his wife ; for that alone is true philosophy which doth faith- 
fully render the very words of the world ; and it is written 
no otherwise than the world doth dictate, it being nothing 
else but the image and reflection thereof, not adding any- 
thing of its own, but only iterates and resounds " ; — \_Iterat 
et resonat"'] — which may just as well be translated renders 
back and reverberates. And this subtle doctrine of rever- 
beration and echo, as well as the marriage of the mind to 
the universe, must needs go into the piece, though the verse 
should halt for it. Again Ulysses continues : — 

" Ulys. A strange fellow here 

Writes me, that man — how dearly ever parted, 
How much in having, or without or in — 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 
Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
To the first giver." — ^lc* ///. Sc. 3. 

After this touch of sequestration, strangeness, marriage 
of the mind to things, or of Pan to Echo, and this rever- 
beration and reflection of the world's image, he proceeds to 
fold up and veil, " as with a drawn curtain," his doctrine 
of oblivion, thus : — 

" Achil. What! are my deeds forgot? 

Ulys. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, — 



464 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes : 

Those scraps are good deeds past; which, are devoured 

As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 

As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, 

Keeps honour bright: to have done, is to hang 

Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 

In monumental mockery." — Act III. Sc. 3. 

And the discourse winds up thus : — 

" For Time is like a fashionable host, 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, 
And with his arms outstretch' d, as he would fly, 
Grasps-in the new comer." — Act III. Sc. 3. 

And again, thus : — 

" Agam Understand more clear, 

What 's past, and what 's to come, is strew'd with husks 
And formless ruin of oblivion." — Act IV. Sc. 5. 

The verdict of the Shakespeare Society upon the whole 
traditional biography of William Shakespeare is, that he 
was a jovial actor and manager, not much differing from 
other actors and managers. " I cannot marry this fact to 
his verse," says the learned critic and philosopher. No ; 
nor anybody else. This marriage of mind to the universe, 
this deep river of Lethe, running as well above ground as 
below, this perpetual flux of remembrance and oblivion, in 
which all that appears is like the foam on the roaring 
waterfall, every instant born, and every instant dead, living 
only in the flow, — these subtle riddles running underneath 
the two writings, — will marry to nothing but the truth of 
Nature, or to the prose and verse of Francis Bacon : — 

" Take the instant way; 
For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 
Where one but goes abreast." 

§ 10. MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

With the skill of a god to conceal what it may be the 
glory of a king to find out, and with infinite art and beauty, 
the deep-seeing genius of Goethe endeavors to shadow 
forth the manner in which the myths of tradition have 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 465 

grown into miracles of divine revelation ; and, at the same 
time, by sounding through the latest depths of science, to 
exhibit all Nature as no less than miraculous. With the 
aid of science and the keys of Kant, more potent than the 
keys of St. Peter, he was able to unlock and explore the 
inner secrets of the universe, and to attain to that " wit 
of elevation situate as upon a cliff," where Plato, Bacon, 
Leibnitz, Berkeley, and the like of them, had stood more or 
less clearly before him, upon that " topmost summit " which 
affords " room only for a single person " * in an age, and 

" Where one but goes abreast." 

In like manner, Bacon has much to say of this uppermost 
height and narrow strait : — 

" Is there any such happiness as for a man's mind to be raised above the- 
confusion of things, where he may have the prospect of the order of nature 
and the errours of men V " 

And again he says : " Science rightly interpreted is a 
knowledge of things through their causes " ; and that knowl- 
edge, he continues, " constantly expands and by gradual 
and successive concatenation rises, as it were, to the very 
loftiest parts of nature " ; but " the man, who, in the very 
outset of his inquiries, lays firm hold of certain fixed prin- 
ciples in the science, and with immovable reliance upon 
them, disentangles (as he will with little effort) what he 
handles, if he advances steadily onward, not flinching out 
of excess either of self-confidence, or of self-distrust, from 
the object of his pursuit," — if he has but courage and 
seeking faints not, — may " mount gradually " and " climb 
by regular succession the height of things like so many 
tops of mountains." Lear's philosopher standing on the 
top of this same high cliff, and looking into the abysmal 
depths below, exclaims : — 

" How fearful, 
And dizzy 't is to cast one's eyes so low." 

1 Carlyle's Wilhelm Meister's Travels, ch. xiv. 
30 



4:66 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

And the blind Gloster, after the fearful leap had been 
taken, though " ten masts at each " made not " the altitude " 
which he " perpendicularly fell," was yet not clearly certain 
whether he had " fallen or no " ; but one thing ne did 
certainly know, the fiend was gone : — 

" Therefore, thou happy father, 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee." 

And so he learned the lesson : — 

" I do remember now: henceforth I '11 bear 
Affliction, till it do cry out itself 

' Enough, enough ' / and die. That thing you speak of, 
I took it for a man; often 't would say, 
4 The fiend, the fiend'' : he led me to that place," — 

Act IV. Sc. 6. 

that height above the confusion of things, whence the fall 
is so deep, perpendicularly down, to him, who shall be too 
blind to see and keep his step, or be unable to distinguish 
a man from a visionary personification of evil ; or who has 
no way, and therefore wants no eyes, having stumbled when 
he saw ; but to the open eyes of the wise man and the seer, 
it is the clear safe sunshine of the empyrean, and the 
highest happiness of a human soul, wherein men's impos- 
sibilities become divine possibilities : that is to say, if he 
shall, with Bacon, deeply study and " intentively observe 
the appetences of matter and the most universal passions, 
which are in either globe exceeding potent, and transver- 
berate the universal nature of things, he shall receive clear 
information concerning celestial matters from the things 
seen here with us " ; 1 as when the veil of wildness was 
lifted from Prince Hal as he became more and more 
crescive in his faculty, and (as King Henry V.) became 
" a true lover of the Holy Church," and 

" Consideration, like an angel, came 
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, 

i Works (Mont), XVI., Note 22. 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 467 

Leaving his body as a paradise 

T' envelop and contain celestial spirits." 

Henry V. Act L Sc. 1. 

And he must proceed upon those physical reasons " which 
make inquiry into the universal appetites and passions of 
matter, and the simple and genuine motions of bodies. 
For upon these wings we ascend most safely to these 
celestial material substances." * In short, he must be able 
not only to see through this globe, but even to penetrate 
u the globe above." 2 It was just so, in the " Lear " : — 

" Old Man. Alack, sir ! you cannot see your way. 

Glos. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes: 
I stumbled when I saw. 3 Full oft 't is seen, 
Our means secure us ; and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities 

Edg Bless thee, master ! 

Glos. Is that the naked fellow ? 

Old M. Ay, my lord. 

Glos. Then, pry' thee, get thee gone. If, for my sake, 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Whom I '11 entreat to lead me. . . . 
Here, take this purse, thou whom the Heaven's plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, 
Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man. 
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; 
So distribution shall undo excess, 
And each man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover? 

Edg. Ay, master. 

Glos. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
.And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear, 
With something rich about me : from that place 
I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm : 

Poor Tom shall lead thee." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

} Works (Boston), VIII. 497. 
'2 Speech, Works (Phil.), II. 274. 
8 Soph. Antigone, 1341-3; (Ed. Tyrannus, 1334-5. 



468 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

This Gloster is on the road that conducts the traveller 
" to places precipitous and impassable " ; but once arrived 
at the brink of the precipice, he will need no further lead- 
ing from fiend or philosopher ; for, at that point, a man 
shall rise, or fall, by his own weight in the universal scheme 
of things. And when he has ceased to swear by devil, or 
by demigod, he will be ready to exclaim, with Gloster : — 

" you mighty gods ! 
This world I do renounce." — Act IV. Sc. 6. 

For, this height is " above tempests, always clear and 
calm ; a hill of the goodliest discovery that man can have, 
being a prospect upon all the errours and wanderings of 
the present and former times. Yea, in some clhT, it leadeth 
the eye beyond the horizon of time, and giveth no obscure 
divination of times to come." Surely, this Lear was written 
by a man, who was, as Bacon says of Solomon, " truly one 
of those clearest burning lamps, whereof himself speaketh, 
in another place, when he saith, The spirit of man is as the 
lamp of God, wherewith he searcheth all inwardness" Heming 
and Con dell say, in the Preface to the Folio, speaking for 
the author, that they would " leave you to others of his 
friends, whom, if you need, can be your guides : if you 
need them not, you can lead yourselves and others." Doubt- 
less the writer of this well knew, that there was a height 
of human culture, from which the reader would " no lead- 
ing need," — being himself one of those 

" clearest gods, who make them honours 
Of men's impossibilities." 

And it is further not improbable that Gloster's idea of 
precipitating himself over the cliff of Dover was partly 
suggested by the story, which Bacon relates in his " Exper- 
ment Solitary touching flying in the Air," thus : " It is 
reported that amongst the Leucadians, in ancient time, 
upon a superstition, they did use to precipitate a man from 
a high cliff into the sea ; tying about him with strings, at 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 4G9 

some distance, many fowls ; and fixing unto his body divers 
feathers, spread, to break the fall." * 

Again, says the Essay on Death : " The soul, having 
shaken off her flesh, doth then set up for herself, and con- 
temning things that are under, shows what Finger hath 
enforced her." This rather singular metaphorical use of 
the word finger makes its appearance again in the Cymbe- 
line, thus : — 

" Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
The harmony of this peace." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

And Hamlet, considering of the subject, very much after 
the manner of both Plato and Bacon, soliloquizes thus : — 

" To be, or not to be; that is the question: — 
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them ? — To die : — to sleep, — 
No more: and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wisli'd. To die, — to sleep: — 
To sleep ! perchance to dream: — ay, there 's the rub; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause." — Act III. Sc. 1. 

And when he comes to his sudden end, which Horatio 
announces " to the yet unknowing world " as an upshot — 

" Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, 
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, 
Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause, 
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 
Fall'n on the inventors' heads," — 

his last words are, — 

"The rest is silence." 
Thus ended the pause ; and in such manner as to leave 
room for doubt, whether his final conclusion may not have 
been something like that of the Socratic poet, Euripides ? 
when he says : — 

1 Natural History, § 886. 



470 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

" The souls of dying men indeed live not, 
But surely have immortal knowledge all, 
Into th' immortal ether falling: " — Iftlene, 1014-6. 

or, as in Clarence's dream, — 

" but still the envious flood 
Stopp'd in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air." 

Richard III., Act L Sc. 4. 

or, as again, in the " Measure for Measure," thus: — 

" Claudio. Death is a fearful thing. 

Jsab. And shamed life a hateful. 

Clau. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
In thrilling region of thick-ribb'd ice; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds 
And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be, worse than worst, 
Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts 
Imagine, howling ! — 't is too horrible. 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death." — Act 111. Sc. 1. 

But silence is not necessarily death for the soul. That 
the soul may still live, after the dissolution of the body, on 
the soundest logical and scientific principles, must be con- 
sidered as metaphysically possible ; but if so, necessarily 
in time and space, and therefore necessarily under some 
form of its own, with or without a bodily investment, how- 
ever thin and ethereal it may be, and in some place where- 
soever in the boundless universe of God. And it must 
have continuity in time, which may have an end, or be 
eternal. But identity with the infinite soul must be the 
extinction and end of the finite soul. The indestructibility 
of the fundamental essence of the soul is one thing ; that of 
the finite soul, as such, is quite another thing. In view of the 
entire course of Providence, as it may be gathered from the 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 471 

scientific history of the past and present universe, sacred 
scriptures, all the records of tradition, and what little we 
can read 

"In Nature's infinite book of secrecy," — 

or in " the infinite and secret operations of Nature," accord- 
ing to Bacon's " Cogitations concerning Human Knowl- 
edge," — on all that we can get to see and know of the 
ends of Providence in the universal order, and according 
to what we are able to discover and understand and com- 
prehend of the total plan and probable continuation thereof 
in the future purposes of the Creator, we may believe with 
Plato, Jesus, Paul, Cicero, Boethius, Bacon, and many 
others of the most learned and wise, greatest and best, and 
most divine men of all ages, that the immortality, that is, 
the eternal continuity of the soul, in time, is in the highest 
degree probable ; but for the fact, whether any given soul 
will be thus immortal or not, — that must, from the very 
nature of the thing, rest in the divine will of the Eternal 
Father, in the future course of his providence. Therefore 
must it be forever impossible to be foreknown to God, or 
revealed to man, for certain fact. And whether any finite 
soul will be continued in that eternally continuing provi- 
dence as a fit part of the divine plan, — whether it will be 
saved or lost, remembered or forgotten, — may depend, at 
last, very much on the fact, when the time shall come, or 
indeed at any time, whether such soul be worth remem- 
bering and saving, or not : — 

" How would you be 
If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are ? 0, think on that ! " 

Measure for Measure, Act II. Sc. 2. 

From this same elevation, Goethe's wanderer in the 
mountains descends all at once into a microscopic com- 
munity of common human affairs ; or sees, in a sort of 
magical perspective, a world of transactions in a small box; 
or looks across a vast chasm, and beholds a fellow-being so 



472 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

far removed, that communication would seem to be, as it 
were, between two souls in different worlds, 

" Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye." 

3 Hen. VI, Act III. Sc. 2. 

So intent, for the moment, was this wanderer on his dear 
object, that he was just on the point of jumping sheer over 
the gulf between, when a wiser companion, seizing him by 
the skirts of conscience, drew him back. Macbeth, looking 
another way, hesitated and considered, — 

" that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We 'd jump the life to come." — Act I. Sc. 7. 

With Goethe as with Bacon, raised upon this high cliff, 
all the miracles of tradition, verbal or written, sink into 
painted walls and tapestries for the edification of children 
of the mountains, with their new Joseph and Virgin Mary, 
in comparison with the boundless miracle of the actual 
universe, that lay an " open secret" to them, though for the 
most part invisible to the eyes of men in general. Says 
Bacon : " I had rather believe all the fables of the legend, 
and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this univer- 
sal frame is without a mind ; and therefore God never 
wrought miracle to convince atheism, because his ordinary 
works convince it." 1 But, he continues again, there were 
some also that stayed not here ; but went further, and held 
that if the spirit of man, whom they call the microcosm, do 
give a fit touch to the spirit of the world, by strong imagi- 
nations and beliefs, it might command nature ; for Para- 
celsus and some darksome authors of magic do ascribe to 
imagination exalted, the power of miracle-working faith. 
With these vast and bottomless follies men have been in 
part entertained." Yea ; and so they still are, vastly, and 
1 Nat. Hist, Works (Mont.), IV. 488. 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY; 473 

in many respects most perniciously entertained ; for the 
truth is, as Bacon declares in his Sacred Meditations, thus : 
" Now every miracle is a new creation, and not according 
to the first creation " ; and he says, again, " as for the nar- 
rations touching the prodigies and miracles of religions, 
they are either not true, or not natural ; and therefore, im- 
pertinent for the story of nature." Very like was the 
opinion of Yon Hardenberg, that " miracles, as contradic- 
tions of Nature, are amathematical. But there are no 
miracles in that sense. What we so term is intelligible 
precisely by means of mathematics ; for nothing is miracu- 
lous to mathematics " ; — that is, to the science of the laws 
of creative thought. So Bacon says, again, u that kings 
ruled by their laws, as God did by the laws of nature, and 
ought rarely to put in use their supreme prerogative, as God 
doth his power of working miracles." * Nothing but the 
power of Heaven could command nature; as when King 
Henry's conscience 

— " first receiv'd a tenderness, 
Scruple, and prick, in certain speeches utter'd 
By th' Bishop of Bayonne," — 

and the question, whether his daughter were legitimate, 
entered the region of his heart " with a splitting power," 
he is made to say, — 

" First, methought, 
I stood not in the smile of Heaven ; who had 
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, 
If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should 
Do no more offices of life to 't than 
The grave does to the dead." —Hen. VIIL, Act II. Sc. 4. 

Nevertheless, Bacon's elevation to the woolsack was, in 
the style of popular eloquence, at that day, as seen in his 
speeches, "the immediate work of God" and the King, and 
" their actions were no ordinary effects, but extraordinary 
miracles ; " and the plays adopt the same style : " Exceed- 
ing miracles ! " — " A most most high miracle ! " — though 
1 Adv. of Learn., Book II. 



474 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

even a Bishop ventures to say, in the play, " miracles are 
ceased." And the idea seems to have become so common 
and popular as to get into the comedy of " All 's Well that 
Ends Well," thus : — 

u Laf They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical per- 
sons to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. 
Hence is it we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming 
knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 

Par. Why 't is the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our 
latter times. 

Bar. And so 't is. 

Laf. To' be relinquish'd of the artists, — 

Par. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows — 

Par, Right, so I say. 

Laf. That gave him out incurable — 

Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. 

Laf. Not to be help'd, — 

Par. Right as 't were a man assur'd of a — 

Laf Uncertain life and sure death. 

Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said. 

Laf I may truly say it is a novelty to the world. 

Par. It is indeed: if you will have it in shewing, you shall read it in — 
What do you call these? — 

Laf A shewing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. 

Par. That 's it: I would have said the very same. 

Laf. W 7 hy your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me I speak in respect — 

Par. Nay, 't is strange, 't is very strange; that is the brief and tedious 
of it ; and he 's of a most facinorous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be 
the- 
ir//. Very hand of heaven." — Act II. Sc. 3. 

And as early as 1594, we find the philosopher writing a 
Masque for the Christmas Revels of Gray's Inn, in which 
he makes the second counsellor, " advising the study of 
philosophy," address himself to the Prince of Purpoole in 
these words : — 

" Thus, when your Excellency shall have added depth of knowledge to 
the fineness of your spirits and greatness of your power, — 
[" Or those that with the fineness of their souls 

By reason guide his execution." — Tro. and Cres., Act I. Sc. 3.] 

then indeed shall you be a Trismegistus ; and then when all other miracles 
and wonders shall cease by reason that you shall have discovered their natu- 
ral causes, yourself shall be left the only miracle and wonder of the world." 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 475 

The fault still is, not so much in inflating plain things 
into marvels, or in making modern and familiar, things that 
are supernatural and causeless, as in attempting to con- 
ceive of things both natural and supernatural, not only as 
not naturally caused at all, but as supernaturally caused 
in a sense contradictory to all reason, the known laws of 
thought, the very nature of things, and what we know of 
the divine nature and the order of divine providence in 
the universe ; as for instance, considerable question is 
made, as well by men of science as theologians, of what 
is called the Development Theory as against various theo- 
logical theories of the Six Days Works : whereas the 
true theory might be better stated thus : The whole is, 
visibly, to the eye of the philosopher, a compound order of 
development, evolution, and new creation, in radiated linear 
branching descent, in directions in time from centre to 
circumference, on w T hich is the distribution in space at a 
spheroidal right angle to a universal radius, in zoological 
provinces, which are ever carried forward on the line of 
lapsing time over changing surfaces in space, with succes- 
sive evolution and continuous new creation of artistic type 
of form in the continuous destruction and extinction of old 
types of form (individuals, species, genera), giving, coor- 
dinated always in time and space (which, we must remem- 
ber, are merely laws of thought creative or destructive), in 
variable succession of creative progression and destructive 
retrogression, under perpetual geological oscillation and 
almost constant change of physical condition, under the 
laws of physics (also those same laws of thought creative or 
destructive) — sea, shore, and land ; water, air, earth, and 
tree ; hot, tropical, temperate, and cold ; — first, the funda- 
mental unity of type in the primordial cell, and thence the 
kingdom, sub-kingdoms, branches, classes, orders, families, 
genera, species, individuals, — unity and difference, — ac- 
cording to the Transcendental Architectonic of the Divine 
Idea ; at once, a natural and a supernatural order, the two 



476 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

being so far one and identical ; for it is a work of thought 
in the order of "immortal providence." And so of the 
vegetable kingdom, and indeed of all forms of matter, 
down to the last atoms of the atomic theories ; and thence 
further on, with the metaphysician and philosopher, who is 
able to see through physics into metaphysics, quite through 
the last forms and modes of substance, — light, heat, elec- 
tricities, motions, powers, — into the totality of all sub- 
stance as the Divine Power of Thought itself in activity 
by the necessary fact of existence, artistically thinking, 
creating, the universe ; and who is able to grasp all that, 
reducing at once the greatest of all marvels to a plain 
thing. And so, whether the phenomena of creation be to 
be called natural and caused, or supernatural and causeless, 
depends mainly on this : whether we look at it from the 
physical or the metaphysical side, and with the natural or 
supernatural eye. In reality, it is all the same thing in ' 
either case ; — "a natural perspective that is, and is 
not " ; l < — or like " perspectives that show things inward 
when they are but paintings"; 1 except that the whole 
materialism of dead substratum, and a great deal of the 
old theological fog and mere moonshine, should be cleared 
at once from our minds and swept sheer off into oblivion, 
whither it is fast going, and there an end of it ; for, " as 
the poet said of the creation of the world," according to 
Bacon's speech : " Materiam noli qucerere, nulla fuit? 

This dark cloud of superstition may never be entirely 
swept away. It is as old as the human race ; and, in vari- 
ous changing shapes, it has hung over mankind like an in- 
curable incubus, laden for the most part with awful terrors 
and diabolical horrors, and with severe but perhaps neces- 
sary discipline, for the poor children of men. And it 
seems destined to be as perpetual as that dismal cloud-belt 
that perennially overhangs the equatorial ocean. But the 
skilful navigator, if he cannot disperse the cloud, may yet 

1 Nat. Hist 



MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 477 

escape from underneath its dark and tearful shadow. He 
will inevitably sleep in equatorial dead calms, or dance his 
weary life out in the lugubrious doldrums of the Horse- 
Latitudes, if he do not. Happier winds may take him 
more prosperously on his life-voyage, if he can but reach 
them ; and, if he can also keep clear of the Arctic night of 
unmetaphysical physics and orthodox theology, he may 
have temperate sailing, on an endless parallel, in the eter- 
nal radiance of the true Pole-star of the universe ; but 
otherwise, never. 

Nor need there be any fear of anything being done, in 
the entire universe, without a cause ; nor that all mankind 
will adopt the phrenologico-biology and perpetual-motion 
machine theories of M. Auguste Comte, Harriet Marti neau, 
and George Henry Lewes, nor the childish vagaries of 
dreamy spiritual rappers ; at least, until all shall have 
sunk into that degree of intellectual stupidity, or super- 
stitious folly, wherein the knowledge of causes, the true 
nature of cause, and the mode of that thing which is un- 
caused, is completely ignored, and all attempt to know it 
summarily renounced. On the contrary, a very large por- 
tion of mankind may be presumed to be still capable of 
appreciating what Bacon made the first and foremost article 
of his plan of Solomon's House, or a College of the Uni- 
versal Science, thus : — " The End of our Foundation is 
the knowledge of Causes, and secret motions of things ; 
and the enlarging the bounds of Human Empire to the 
effecting all things possible " ; or, as he says, again, the 
true end of knowledge " is a discovery of all operations and 
possibilities of operations from immortality (if that were 
possible) to the meanest mechanical practice." 1 He well 
knew, that " in the entrance of philosophy, when the second 
causes, which are next unto the senses, do offer themselves 
to the mind of man, if it dwell and stay there, it may in- 
duce some oblivion of the highest cause." There were 

1 Valerius Terminus. 



478 MIRACLES AND IMMORTALITY. 

also to be in this Solomon's House, " houses of deceits of 
the senses ; where we represent all manner of feats of jug- 
gling, false apparitions, impostures, and illusions ; and their 
fallacies. And surely you will easily believe that we that 
have so many things truly natural, which induce admira- 
tion, could, in a world of particulars, deceive the senses, if 
we could disguise those things, and labor to make them 
seem more miraculous. But we do hate all impostures and 

lies These are, my son, the riches of Solomon's 

House." 1 

1 New Atlantis. 



CHAPTER VIL 

SPIRITUAL ILLUMINATION. 

Ilepi rbv iravTOiv BactAea navr e£l, koll £k4lvov eVe/ca —avTa, Kai €«ecvo ainov anaV" 
T<av Ttov koAcov. — Concerning the King of all, all things are, and for his sake are 
all things, and he is the cause of all the beautiful. — Viators Epist. IT. to Dionysius. 
" The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of the sense ; 
the last was the light of reason ; and his Sabbath work ever since is the iUumina- 
tion of his Spirit. 5 ' — Bacon's Essay of Truth. 

§ 1. THE TRUE RELIGION. 

Benjamin Constant, setting out upon an investigation 
into the origin and progress of all religions, with a purpose 
of showing that Christianity was only one of the many 
superstitions of the world's history, becomes himself con- 
vinced that there is such a thing as religion in itself, rest- 
ing on an eternal foundation of divine truth, and recog- 
nized more or less distinctly in all phases of human expe- 
rience, and in all forms of human society, from the lowest 
barbarisms up to the highest degree of civilization ; and 
Goethe, no less learned in historical criticism, and perhaps 
a still deeper philosopher, finds that there are at least 
" three Reverences " and " one true Keligion," which stand 
upon such eternal foundation. Morell, writing a philoso- 
phy of religion, finds, also, that all religious opinion and 
belief must come to man through his own reason only ; 
and that there can be no revelation to men of things alto- 
gether above their comprehension. These and many other 
learned writers and scholars, both ancient and modern, take 
religion to be something universal and necessary, founded 
in the very nature and constitution of the soul of man, 



480 THE TRUE RELIGION. 

wherein he is made sensible of his dependence upon " some 
Higher Powers." Lord Bacon had attained to> a like com- 
prehension of the true nature of religion. " The true re- 
ligion," he says, Cl is built upon the rock ; the rest are tossed 
upon the waves of time." This metaphor appears again in 
the plays : — 

" Wol. Though perils did 

Abound as thick as thought could make them, and 
Appear in forms more horrid, yet my duty 
(As doth a rock against the chiding flood) 
Should the approach of this wild river break, 
And stand unshaken yours." — 

Henry VIII., Act III. Sc. 2. 

And again, thus : — 

" Tit. For now I stand as one upon a rock, 
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him." 

Tit. And., Act in. Sc. 1. 

The same metaphors upon the same subject appear again 
in a letter drafted by Bacon for Essex, thus : — 

"Duty, though my state lie buried in the sands, and my favours be cast 
upon the waters, and my honours be committed to the wind, yet standeth 
surely built upon the rock, and hath been, and ever shall be, unforced and 
unattempted." 1 

And in the same Essay (of the Vicissitude of Things), 
he observes, that "there be three manner of plantation of 
new sects : by the pow T er of signs and miracles ; by the 
eloquence and wisdom of speech and persuasion ; and by 
the sword " : — 

" Gent. This is a creature, 

Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Of all professors else, make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow." — Win. Tale, Act V. Sc. 1. 

Christianity in itself is perhaps not a sect, nor any man's 
creed of belief, whether that of Channing, Edwards, Wes- 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, II. 193. 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 481 

ley, Penn, Cranmer, Luther, St. Augustine, St. Paul, St 
Peter, or even of Jesus of Nazareth, nor the decree of any 
Church council, but rather the true religion of holy men. 
It is not exactly philosophy ; but it presumes a true philos- 
ophy of the universe to be already established in the mind 
of the true believer. Christianity would seem to proclaim 
the fact by authority of miracle, all the miracles of the 
universe, no less than some few, and the universal revela- 
tion therein, that God, the creator and preserver of all 
created things, reigns in and over all His universe, judges 
the quick and the dead, and raises, if He will, the soul to 
life, light, and immortality. Philosophy unfolds the past 
and present order of His providence in the known and 
knowable universe of fact and truth, and endeavors to ex- 
plain, as far as man can comprehend, how it is possible for 
God and Nature and Man to exist as they have existed, 
and do in fact exist, and in what manner, and how it is 
conceivable and credible that He can create and destroy, 
remember and forget, govern, judge, and make souls im- 
mortal. Christianity is religious culture and worship : 
philosophy is the science of sciences, the Universal Science. 
Philosophy is to Christianity what Plato was to Jesus 
Christ. There must be a Plato before there can be a 
Jesus, and a philosophy before there can be a Christianity. 
Every man's Christianity will be according to his philos- 
ophy, whether he knows it or not. And when he has ad- 
vanced his philosophy and his Christianity together to a 
knowledge of God and His providence in the universe, he 
will be sure to find them one, — but two names for " the 
same thing more large." Religion is the live worship of 
the living God. "It is not without cause," says Bacon, 
" that the Apostle calls Religion the Rational Worship of 
God ; " 1 and again he says, " As to seek divinity in philos- 
ophy is to seek the living amongst the dead, so to seek phi- 



1 De Aug. Scient., Lib. IX. 
31 



482 THE TRUE RELIGION. 

losophy in divinity is to seek the dead amongst the liv 

ing " : — 

" There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough hew them how we will." 

Hamlet, Act V. Sc. 2. 

He was one of the men, or rather the man of that age, 
for whom " this approaching and intruding into God's 
secrets and mysteries" had no terrors; nor, as it is even 
now with some, was he "unjustly jealous that every reach 
and depth of knowledge, wherewith their conceits have not 
been acquainted, should be too high an elevation of man's 
wit, and a searching and ravelling too far into God's 
secrets " ; on the contrary, his spirit was rather that of 
Lear in the play : — 

" Lear. So we '11 live, 

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of Court news; and we '11 talk with them too, — 
Who loses and who wins; who 's in, who 's out; — 
And take upon us the mystery of things, 
As if we were God's spies : and we '11 wear out, 
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
That ebb and flow by th' moon." — Act V. Sc. 3. 

But, in a Latin fragment, never printed until lately, he 
takes care to distinguish the true limits of sobriety in the 
approach of sense-perception merely to things divine ; " for 
if we attempt an impudent flight, on the ill-glued wings of 
sense, as if audaciously to explore more nearly the nature, 
ways, will, rule, and other mysteries of God, certain downfall 
awaits us. The summary law of Nature, which is like the 
vertical point of the Pyramid, in which all things come to- 
gether into unity, — this, I say, and nothing else, is with- 
drawn from the human intellect .... Nor let any one 
fear that the Faith can be more diametrically opposed by 
Sense than by what is now believed by virtue of divine in- 
spiration ["afflatus""]; such as the creation of the world 
out of nothing ; the incarnation of God ; the resurrection 
of the body. But for me it is perfectly clear, that Natural 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 483 

Philosophy, which is (next after the word of God) the most 
certain remedy for superstition, is also (what may seem 
wonderful) the most approved aliment of faith ; and the 
more deeply it penetrates, the more profoundly is the 
human mind imbued with religion." 1 

Allusion is frequently made in the plays to the ebb and 
flow of the sea and the action of the moon ; this was a new 
theory of the tides, at that day. and Bacon had particularly 
studied the subject ; and he wrote a treatise " Of the Ebb 
and Flow of the Sea.'" in which the action of the moon is 
curiously discussed, and the doctrine laid down very much 
as in the play : — 

" P. Hen. Thou say'st well, and it holds well, too : for the fortune of us 
that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea: being governed, 
as the sea is. by the moon." — 1 Hen. IV.. Act I. Sc. 2. 

Having lived in a world-prison, taking all knowledge for 
his province, from the beginning, when walled prisons were 
not far off. he was fully aware of the dangers which a phi- 
losophical writer had to incur from these same " packs and 
sects of great ones." They appear to have infested all ages : 
Anaxagoras had to flee from them ; they made Socrates 
drink hemlock, and sold Tlato into slavery ; Aristotle had 
to escape through a back door into Thessaly : Jesus was 
crucified. Bruno burnt. Ramus massacred, and Campanella 
tortured ; John Selden had to apologize, and Des Cartes, to 
hide his book ; Spinoza was terribly excommunicated, and 
Locke banished ; Kant had to stalk. Fichte. to resign, and 
even Cousin, to take refuge in Germany. Bacon, remem- 
bering that one of the uses of poetry was ; * to retire and 
obscure what is taught or delivered." and that u the secrets 
and mysteries of religion, policy, and philosophy M might be 
involved in fables, chose a more cunning way. and got safely 
through by wearing a mask. But the Great Instauration 
itself strictly scientific in character, and steering as clear as 
possible of any direct conflict with them, and full of paren- 

1 Cogitationes. Works (Boston). V. 435. 



484 THE TRUE RELIGION. 

thetical savings of the established theologies, even though it 
flew too high over men's heads in general to be understood 
by them, drew down on him some animadversion from the 
current orthodoxies ; so much so, that his friend, Mr. Tobie 
Matthew, deemed it worth while to give him an early 
caution on that head ; to which Bacon replied : " For your 
caution of churchmen and church matters, as for any im- 
pediment it may be to the applause and celebrity of my 

work, it moveth me not But the truth is, that I at 

all have no occasion to meet them in any way, except it be 
as they will needs confederate with Aristotle, who, you 

know, is intemperately magnified by the schoolmen 

Nay, it doth more fully lay open, that the question between 
me and the ancient is not of the virtue of the race, but of 
the Tightness of the way. And to speak truth, it is to the 
other but as Palma to Pugnus^ part of the same thing more 
large." * In the Advancement, he gives a general view of 
his scheme of all knowledge, which he divides into Divinity 
and Philosophy. By Divinity, he appears to have under- 
stood, or at least to have included in it, " Inspired Theology," 
or the revealed religion of the Bible : it might not have 
been safe for him altogether to have omitted it, at that day. 
This department of inquiry, however, he places beyond the 
pale of philosophy, and being thus summarily disposed of, 
it no longer disturbs his philosophical investigations. In 
the Novum Organum, he ventures to say, that the cor- 
ruption of philosophy, by the mixing of it up with super- 
stition and theology, is of a much wider extent, and is most 

injurious to it, both as a whole and in its parts 

Against it, we must use the greatest caution ; for the 
apotheosis of error is the greatest evil of all, and when 
folly is worshipped, it is, as it were, a plague-spot upon the 
understanding. Yet some of the moderns have indulged 
this folly, with such consummate inconsiderateness, that 
they have endeavored to build a system of natural philos- 
1 Letter to Matthew. 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 485 

ophy on the first chapter of Genesis, the book of Job, and 
other parts of Scripture, seeking thus " the dead amongst 
the living." He is considering the Scriptures here, in the 
popular way, as the source of that living divinity, compared 
with which philosophy is, as it were, dead science. Doubt- 
less if he had written in another age, or even in this, though 
to a wide extent still, the authority of Prophets, Law-givers, 
Kings, Messiahs, Apostles, Teachers and Workers of 
Miracles, and even the very letter and text of what they 
said, or wrote, the old poetic genesis of creation, books of 
ancient Law, Histories, Chronicles, Prophecies, Proverbs, 
Lamentations, Songs, Psalms, Gospels, Acts, and Epistles, 
in prose and verse, in Hebrew and Greek, are allowed to 
have more weight, and are more devoutly reverenced, than 
living divinity itself, — 

" and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words," — Bam., Act III. Sc. 4. 

he would have reversed the order of the expression, without 
changing his own meaning, and said, seeking thus the living 
amongst the dead ! But "to turn religion into a comedy 
or satire ... is a thing far from the devout reverence of a 
Christian " ; and so long as u the church is situate as it were 
upon a hill, no man maketh question of it, or seeketh to 
depart from it" ; but " there be as ivell schismatical fashions 
as opinions" and some appropriate " to themselves the 
names of zealous, sincere, and reformed ; as if all others 
were cold minglers of holy things and profane, and friends 
of abuses. Yea, be a man endued with great virtues and 
fruitful in good works, yet if he concur not with them, they 
term him (in derogation) a civil and moral man, and com- 
pare him to Socrates or some heathen philosopher : whereas 
the wisdom of the Scriptures teacheth us contrariwise to 
judge and denominate men according to their works of the 
second table ; because they of the first are often counter- 
feited and practised in hypocrisy. . . . And St. James saith, 



486 THE TRUE RELIGION. 

This is true religion, to visit the fatherless and the widow, etc. 
So as that which is with them but philosophical and moral, 
is, in the phrase of the Apostle, true religion and Chris- 
tianity." x Indeed, when it is considered with what des- 
perate pertinacity and dire perversion of all reason and 
sense the modern mind still persists in looking for living 
light only in the dead works of past history, taking old 
phosphorescent gleams for the veritable divine fire of the 
universe, one might almost be persuaded it would be a 
thing scarcely to be regretted, if a certain African Society 
of London should actually succeed in carrying the Bible 
into Africa. 

In what is expressed in his writings concerning the re- 
vealed religion of Biblical theology, it appears that his 
views were of a liberal, comprehensive, and elevated char- 
acter. The Prayers and Confession of Faith, which he put 
in writing, exhibit a sublime conception of the Divine 
Nature, the subtlest metaphysical theism, and a profound 
reverence for divine things. Nowhere does he descend to 
the level of a narrow bigotry, a contracted dogma, or any 
childish superstition. On the one hand, distinguishing " the 
faith " from science, he handed it over to the ministers of 
inspired theology : while on the other, he took care that 
God and religion should not by his aid be narrowed down 
to the set formula of any established church, dwarfed into 
the compass of any extant orthodox reason, nor circum- 
scribed within the limits of any present state of knowledge. 
" Out of the contemplation of nature, or ground of human 
knowledge, to induce any verity or persuasion concerning 
the points of faith," was, in his judgment, " not safe ;" nor 
ought we to attempt to draw down or submit the mysteries 
of God to our reason ; but, contrariwise, to raise and ad- 
vance our reason to the divine truth." 2 And so, also, u in 
the true inquisition of nature, men should accustom them- 

1 Controversies of the Church, I. Spedd. Letters and Life, 80-91. 

2 Adv. of Learn., Works (Mont.), II., 129. 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 487 

selves by the light of particulars to enlarge their minds to 
the amplitude of the world, and not reduce the world to the 
narrowness of their minds." * On the contrary, the inter- 
preter of nature rising from particulars and expanding his 
mind to the breadth of the universal world, and the human 
reason, searching into the mysteries of the Divine Being 
by the light of faith, and, with sapience, advancing to the 
full comprehension thereof, must both at length arrive at 
the same spring-head and fountain of all science, and find 
themselves standing together, at last, upon the same uni- 
versal platform. 

In philosophy, he considered that ' ; the contemplations 
of man do either penetrate unto God, or are circumfered in 
nature, or are reflected and reverted upon himself" ; whence 
he divided knowledge into three kinds ; first, Divine Phi- 
losophy or Natural Theology ; second, Natural Philosophy, 
including Metaphysics ; and third, Human Philosophy or 
Humanity, including all that pertains to the mind and the 
practical life of man. But over and above all, he thought 
" it was good to erect and constitute one universal science, 
by the name of Philosophia Prima, or Summary Philosophy, 
or as he sometimes calls it, Philosophy itself. The grounds 
and scope of this Summary Philosophy are merely indicated, 
rather than systematically and at large expounded in his 
works. Enough, however, appears, to show that he com- 
prehended it in the full depth, breadth, and significance of 
a universal philosophy ; and it was nothing less than realism 
and idealism all in one, — an identity-philosophy. The fun- 
damental difference between cause and effect, substance 
and phenomena, being and appearance, universals and par- 
ticulars, degrees and differences, unity and variety, he 
draws as clearly and in almost the same language as the 
best of the moderns. " Logic," says he, '• considereth of 
many things as they are in notion, and this philosophy as 
they are in nature ; the one in appearance, the other iu 
1 Nat. Hist. § 290. 



488 •THE TRUE RELIGION. 

existence " ; but he had found this difference " better made 
than pursued." * He comprehended the necessary relation 
of cause and effect as consisting in essential continuous 
activity, or living power ; and he had some adequate con- 
ception of the true nature of the First Cause, as " the last 
and positive power and cause in nature," and of u the mode 
of this thing which is uncaused." There is no extended 
exposition of this Higher Philosophy in his writings, and it 
may be admitted that his expressions are somewhat general 
and vague ; but the outlines are there. He did not dwell 
here. Metaphysical thinking, from the time of Plato down 
to his own time, and especially in the centuries next pre- 
ceding him, had degenerated into mere cloudy logomachies 
and dreamy mystical vagaries, and the great need was, then, 
that the human mind should be turned about and con- 
fronted with actual Nature, and drawn into the surer 
methods and safer paths of physical inquiry as the best, if 
not the only, means of escape from the bewilderment of 
mysticism, the wordy stupidities of scholastic logic, super- 
stitious ignorance, and the all-deadening torpidities of ortho- 
dox theology. Nor is it to be supposed that mere begin- 
ners in the study would very easily make it out in his 
writings alone. But such as have been made masters in 
this hidden science by the study of the great transcendental 
teachers of it, from Plato downward to our time, will be 
apt to conclude, that the whole view lay open to him, and 
that he, was at least able to be a master in poetry, which, 
according to a great modern critic and philosopher, is " the 
essence of all science, and requires the purest of all study 
for knowing it." 1 

In the general upshot, divine philosophy ascends up to 
God ; natural philosophy is circumfered in nature ; and 
human philosophy, or humanity, comprises all possible 
human culture, in which philosophy itself has its end and 
use for man, whose life begins in the sphere of physical 
1 Advancement. 2 Carlyle's Misc., I. 321. 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 489 

nature, in the midst of the woods, thorns, and briers of the 
earth and the mere necessities upon it, and ascends upward 
by the several and successive degrees of ascent to the high- 
est tops of mountains and uppermost elevations of nature, 
reaching, at last, '* the magnificent temple, palace, city, and 
hill" of the Muses, through the entire range of human 
culture, from the fundamental plain of nature up to the 
height of the divine philosophy, taking for " rule and guide," 
that a all knowledge is to be limited by religion, and to be 
referred to use and action." Philosophy itself, however, 
having its source at the spring-head of the highest cause, 
and beginning at one pole, as it were, of the Intellectual 
Globe, descends through the metaphysics of universals 
downward into actual nature ; but the most successful way 
of studying it is, to begin in the field and sphere of physi- 
cal nature itself, and, as it were, at the other pole of the 
Intellectual Globe, and to proceed by the paths, methods, 
and instruments of natural philosophy, taking metaphysic 
as handmaid and guide, until this second philosophy shall 
reach the height of the first philosophy, and the two 
become one, when the globe is completed, in a thorough 
comprehension of God, Man, and Nature, and in a per- 
fect knowledge of the universal science and all philosophy. 
Then, the descent to all the practical arts would be per- 
fectly easy, and the highest human culture would be at- 
tainable ; but the end was not to be merely " contemplative 
enjoyment," but " a complete power of action." And so, 
in a true sense, 

" the art and practic part of life 
Must be mistress to this theoric." — 1 Henry VI., Act I. Sc. 1. 

For it is laid down, that " nothing can be found in the 
material globe, which has not its parallel in the crystalline 
globe or Intellect ; that is, nothing can come into practice, 
of which there is not some doctrine or theory." 1 

1 De Aug., Scient, Lib. VIII., Works (Boston), III. 90. 



490 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 



And so, Jupiter, in the " Cymbeline," descends, sitting 
upon an eagle, and ends his speech thus : — 

" Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline." — Act V. Sc. 4. 

As touching the moral order in this business, it is (as it 
were) reverted on itself, the necessary practical order of 
progress for man ascending ever upward, while the actual 
order of elevation, excellence, and degree, stands eternally 
fixed and immovable ; and in the course of human culture, 
the soul, seeking " to climb Heaven " by the Hill of the 
Muses, or the Pyramid of Pan, in this Intellectual World, 
must proceed in a sort of inverted tunnel, thus : — 




^ESTHETICS. 

The Beautiful: Art 




MORALITY. 

Ethical Law: Morals. 

JUSTICE. 

Civil Law: The State. 



NATURE. 

Physical Necessities : Property: Family. 



For, according to Bacon, " knowledges are as pyramids, 
whereof history and experience are the basis. And so of 
Natural Philosophy the basis is Natural History : the stage 
next the basis is Physic ; the stage next the vertical point 
is Metaphysic. As for the cone and vertical point (the 
work which God worketh from the beginning unto the end, 
namely, the summary law of nature) it may fairly be 
doubted whether man's inquiry can attain to it. But these 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 491 

three are the true stages of knowledge ; which to those 

that are puffed up with their own knowledge and rebellious 

against God, are indeed no better than the giant's three 

hills : — 

Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossam, 

Scilicet atque Ossae frondosum involvere Olympum : — 

(Mountain on mountain thrice they strove to heap, 
Olympus, Ossa, piled on Pelion's steep;) — 

but to those who abasing themselves refer all things to the 
glory of God, they are as the three acclamations : Holy ! 
Holy ! Holy ! For God is holy in the multitude of his 
works, holy in the order or connexion of them, and holy in 
the union of them. And therefore the speculation was 
excellent in Parmenides and Plato (although in them it 
w T as but a bare speculation) that all things by a certain scale 
ascend to unity" 1 

But a divine man must needs have more faces than 
Vishnu, and be able to see all ways at once ; not forgetting 
that there is higher law for higher regions, and lower law 
for lower regions. One face must look to physical nature, 
that he may make sure of life and health ; another face 
must look to property and family, that life may be comfort- 
able here, with a hope of posterity coming after ; another 
face must look to justice and the civil law, that he may 
have safety in civilization, and keep his life, his liberty, his 
property, and his family ; another must see to good morals, 
that the soul may have rest and be at peace w T ith the world 
and itself; another must have an eye to the beautiful, that 
he may find heaven and be glad he is alive ; and another 
must pierce deep, quite through the natural into the super- 
natural world beyond, reaching even unto God and relig- 
ion, in such manner as to see, that all, anywhere, now or 
hereafter, must necessarily depend upon the all-seeing 
divine providence, himself helping, or at his peril not help- 
ing, with all his might. For no man need expect to see 

1 Trans, by Spedding; Works (Boston), VIII. 507. 



492 THE TRUE RELIGION. 

God, before being able to see the beautiful ; nor the beau- 
tiful, before good morals ; nor good morals, before justice ; 
nor even justice, before being clear of physical necessities. 
Nevertheless, it will not do, to look after physical comforts, 
this year ; justice, the next ; morals, the next ; and religion, 
on the death-bed. The vision of the mind's eye must 
stretdh always and at once from top to bottom, from equa- 
tor to pole, and take all latitudes into one view. Until a 
man reach this height, and begin to lead a divine life in 
heaven, he may be sure he is not yet out of hell : through 
being of the elect the clays of affliction are cut short : be- 
ing once clear, he will then be also ready, either to go or 
to stay. But concerning the day and the hour, no man 
knoweth, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but 
the Father only. Be therefore awake. And then, — " we 
defy augury : there is a special providence in the fall of a 
sparrow. If it be now, 't is not to come ; if it be not to 
come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : 
the readiness is all." * 

For the rest, it may be left, with Bacon, to " God's provi- 
dence, that (as the Scripture saith) reacheth even to the 
falling of a sparrow." 2 

The mind is the man. His power of thought, and the 
doings of his thought are himself. His material limitations 
and bodily investment are changing in every instant, in the 
constant flow of the physical stream : the soul only is his 
continuous self. " A man is but what he knoweth," says 
Bacon. So, too, God is the eternal mind of nature, con- 
tinually thinking a universe. His power of thought and 
the acts and- creations of his thought are himself; the 
eternal course of his thought measures the perpetual flow 
of the providential order ; and so, the student of nature 
and philosophy, ascending, or rather, as it may be, descend- 
ing, through particulars to the knowledge of the present 
existent universe and all its past states and conditions, so 
i Hamlet, Act V. Sc. 2. 2 tf a t. Hist. § 737. 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 493 

far as ascertainable and knowable, comes thereby to know 
Him so far, and by the contemplation of the entire scien- 
tific order and whole history of nature, in all its kingdoms, 
and man in all the streams and phases of his development, 
civilization, and culture, and the order of necessity, jus- 
tice, good, beauty, and purpose therein, to comprehend 
something of the mystery of his providence. But He is 
something over and above and beyond any existent uni 
verse, or present state of his thought : He is the eternally 
continuing Power of Thought and ki Immortal Providence," 1 
whose mind's eye sees all things ; as when, in the " Measure 
for Measure/' the reigning Duke, being about to absent 
himself from his dominions, devolves the government upon 
his substitute, but immediately returns himself in the secret 
disguise of a friar, in order to see how things will be 
managed by his deputy; and then, a chapter in human 
affairs is enacted in his presence, as if to draw down to the 
senses of the theatre some conception of an all-seeing eye. 
And when, on his return in person, it became apparent 
to the delinquent and erring deputy, that the Duke had 
been " a partaker of God's theatre," and that all his acts 
were known to him, he submits thus : — 

"Angelo. 0, my dread lord! 

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
To think I can be undiseernible, 
When I perceive your Grace, like power divine, 
Hath look'd upon my passes." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

" For," says Bacon, " if a man can be partaker of God's 
theatre, he shall likewise be partaker of God's rest ; " and 
again, that " men ought to look up to the eternal provi- 
dence and divine judgment " : — 

"Miranda. How came we ashore? 

Pros. By providence divine." — Temp., Act I. Sc. 2. 

This is that same " Deity, which is the author, by power 
and providence, of strange wonders." 2 And again he 

i Tempest, Act V. Sc. 1. 2 tf a t Hist., § 720. 



494: THE TRUE RELIGION. 

says : " Certainly it is heaven upon earth to have a man's 
mind move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the 
poles of truth " : — 

— ; ' arming myself with patience, 
To stay the providence of some high powers, 
That govern us below." — Jul. Ccesar, Act V. Sc. 1. 

And the strangers, that arrived in the island of Bensalem, 
in the New Atlantis, finding that the Governor knew all 
about them and their country, while they had never before 
heard of him or his island, were lost in wonder, not know- 
ing what to make of it ; for that it seemed to them " a con- 
dition and propriety of divine powers and beings, to be 
hidden and unseen of others, and yet to have others open 
and as in a light to them." Among other very admirable 
observations upon the ideal in Shakespeare, Gervinus 
makes this happy remark : " This ideality shows itself, also, 
in the high moral spirit, which in Shakespeare's plays con- 
trols the complications of fate and the issues of human 
actions, in that spirit, which develops before us that higher 
order, which Bacon required in poetry, indicating the eter- 
nal and uncorrupted justice in human things, the finger of 
God, which our dull eyes do not perceive in reality." * In- 
deed, throughout both these writings, the universe, human 
affairs included, is contemplated as being moved, governed, 
and directed by an all-pervading and immanent divine 
providence ; a fact, of which the mere materialist, or poli- 
tician, who imagines that states and peoples, lives and for- 
tunes, are to be manipulated by cunning and manoeuvre, like 
machines that go by wire-pulling and money, is not sup- 
posed to take much note, any more than certain politic 
church-building priests, but of which Hamlet seems to 
have been fully aware ; as when, at the grave, taking up 
the skull that had been " knocked about the mazzard with 
a sexton's spade," he speculates thus : — 

" This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; 
one that would circumvent God, might it not? " — Act V. Sc. 1. 

l Shakes. Comm., by Prof. Gervinus, II. 582 (Lond. 1863). 



THE TRUE RELIGION. 495 

The world known to us may be but a small part of the 
whole existent creation : as far as we may come to see and 
know it, we may know Him and no further. So far as we 
are able thus to discover and see the course and ends of 
providence in the known and knowable universe of mind 
within us and mind without us, extending our view around 
us, and with the eye of prevision forward into the certain, 
the possible, and the probable future, as well as with the 
eye of science backward into " the abysm of time," back 
through the whole historical and traditional line, and thence 
backward through the archaeological and ethnological lines, 
extending far into geological epochs ; and thence still back- 
ward through the entire zoological scale of ascending types 
of created forms and the stratified leaves of the geological 
record to the cooling crust of the molten globe ; and thence 
still backward, through the astronomical order, even to the 
time when the first forms of substance began to be created 
and gathered by the creative power into a spiral nebula, 
perhaps, to form a world, — when time and chronology for 
a solar system, or a globe, began, being bounded out of eter- 
nity, which is the possibility of time, and out of immensity, 
which is the possibility of space ; — and taking even so 
much of the past order of creation into view, and learn- 
ing to comprehend the present and ever continuous order, 
with due perception of the actual and eternal, and with 
due prevision and anticipation of the possible and probable 
in the future continuation thereof, we may come not only 
to understand something of the mystery of His providence, 
but even to possess a certain degree and measure of fore- 
knowledge ; but not otherwise. This law is never dead, 
nor asleep : — 

" Now, 't is awake ; 
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, 
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, 
And so in progress to be hatch' d and born,) 



496 DESTINY. 

Are now to have no successive degrees, 
But ere they live to end." 

Measure for Measure, Act II. Sc. 2. 

So much may be revealed to man ; no more can be re- 
vealed to him in any way ; for nothing streams into man 
from the supernatural world, in the direction in which the 
thinking soul comes, but his existence as such and the 
power to perceive, conceive, remember, think, know, and 
do. Thoughts, ideas, or knowledge of what the ideas and 
purposes of the Creator are, or have been, or foreknowl- 
edge of what they will be, do not, nor can, by any conceiv- 
able possibility, enter into the mind of man from that direc- 
tion, nor by that road. 

§ 2. DESTINY. 

Men have tried to believe, that some Daemon, or 
Genius, or Angel, or some other kind of spiritual phan- 
tasm, stood behind their inmost selves, pouring into them, 
as it were, from the supernatural w T orld, thoughts, ideas, 
revelations, divinations, prophecies, auguries, and fore- 
knowledge ; and that they had nothing to do but to put 
themselves into an attitude of passive receptivity, and to 
let these supernatural communications flow into them, as it 
were by the divine grace, or some kind of spiritual teleg- 
raphy. The idea is as old as Socrates, at least ; and it has 
made a large figure among the poets, both ancient and 
modern. Even Goethe must have a Daemon, and a spirit 
must tell his Mignon who was the father of Felix. Our 
author had need of the same conception for his poetical 
purposes, and he makes good use of it thus : — 

" Macb. And under him, 

My Genius is rebuk'd." — Act HI. Sc. 1. 

and again : — 

" Sooth. Thy daemon, that 's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
Where Caesar is not; but near him, thy angel 
Becomes a fear." — Ant. and Cko., Act II. Sc. 3. 



DESTINY. 497 



and still aorain : 



" Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other; 
And so of these: which is the natural man, 
And which the spirit? " — Com. of Errors, Act V. Sc. 1. 

and still again : — 

" Tro. Hark! you are call'd: some say the Genius so 
Cries, ' Come ! ' to him that instantly must die." 

Tro. and Cr., Act IV. Sc. 4. 

and thus, again, in the " Julius Caesar " : — 

" Brut. Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing, 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma. or a hideous dream : 
The Genius, and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council; and the state of man, 
Like to a little kingdom, surfers then 
The nature of an insurrection." — Act II. Sc. 1. 

And thus guardian angels, guiding geniuses, good daemons, 
and spirits good and bad, have, from the earliest times, 
haunted the imaginations of men. The Chaldaean astrol- 
ogy, the Hebrew inspiration, the divinations of the Grecian 
oracles, and the Roman auguries, were little else than more 
or less gross forms of this same superstitious conceit. Even 
in the days of St. Paul the order of dignities in the Church 
was such, that prophecy and divination held only the 
second place, and miracle-working, only the fourth rank ; 
for, says St. Paul, " God hath set some in the church, 
first apostles, secondarily prophets, thirdly teachers, after 
that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, governments, 
diversities of tongues. Are all apostles ? Are all proph- 
ets ? Are all teachers ? Are all workers of miracles ? 
Have all the gifts of healing ? Do all speak with tongues ? 
Do all interpret ? But covet earnestly the best gifts. 
And yet shew I unto you a more excellent way." 1 Bacon 
treated all these imaginary supernatural powers, spirits, and 
gifts, with little more ceremony than he did those powers 

i 1 Cor. xii. 28-31. 
32 



498 DESTINY. 

of miracle-working faith, that presumed to command na- 
ture, — those " vast and bottomless follies," which were to 
be driven back into the limbo of Paracelsus and "the 
darksome authors of magic/' 

But, for the substance of the soul, he believed it was not 
" extracted out of the mass of heaven and earth," but was 
" a spirit newly inclosed in a body of earth." x He was 
not of the school of those who look upon mind, or soul, as 
a mere secretion of the brain, or as a simple result of some 
kind of arterial brain-flow and consumption of neurine, as 
light comes of the burning of a candle ; for he says, " the 
nature of man (the special and peculiar work of prov- 
idence) includes mind and intellect, which is the seat of 
providence ; and since to derive mind and reason from 
principles brutal and irrational would be harsh and incred- 
ible, it follows almost necessarily that the human spirit was 
endued with providence not without the precedent and in- 
tention and warrant of the greater providence " ; and in 
reference to final causes, he thought it was to be regarded 
as " the centre of the world." 2 Again he says, " the soul 
on the other side is the simplest of substances ; as is well 
expressed, — 

— purumque reliquit 
iEthereum sensum, atque aural simplicis ignem. 

Whence it is no marvel that the soul so placed enjoys no 
rest : according to the axiom that the motion of things out 
of their place is rapid, and in their place calm." 3 It was 
not a product of dead substratum, but " was breathed im- 
mediately from God ; so that the ways and proceedings of 
God with spirits '[souls] are not included in Nature, that is, 
in the laws of heaven and earth : but are reserved to the 
law of his secret will and grace : wherein God worketh 
still and resteth not from the work of redemption, as he 

J- Valerius Terminus, Works (Boston), VI. 28. 

2 Prometheus, Works (Boston), XIII. 147. 

3 Trans, of the De Aug., Works (Boston), IX. 25. 



DESTINY. 499 

resteth from the work of creation ; but continueth working 
to the end of the world ; what time that work also shall be 
accomplished, and an eternal Sabbath shall ensue." 1 Again, 
in the Advancement, he expresses the opinion that the soul 

of man ki was immediately inspired from God ; and 

therefore the true knowledge of the nature and state of the 
soul must come by the same inspiration that gave the sub- 
stance." This passage in a work intended for the general 
reader, and dedicated to an orthodox king, as well as some 
others, in popular works, might admit of an interpretation 
in accordance with some views of inspired theology ; but 
whether his idea of the mode and manner of this inspira- 
tion of a soul into the body was that of Gratiano, when he 
was almost made to waver in his faith, and 

" To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men," — 

Mer. of Ven., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

or whatever precise signification may be attributed to the 
very common w T ords, inspired, breathed into, or infused, it is 
plainly the substance of the soul that he considers as com- 
ing from that source, and in this way ; and any true knowl- 
edge of its nature and state, its origin and constitution as a 
speciality of thinking essence, must be sought in that same 
source, "the greater providence " itself? that is, we may 
suppose, in ontology or the science of all being. Having 
thus got a soul, we must look into it in order to see what it 
is ; and a sound psychology will begin with the actual fact, 
and proceed with an exact analysis of its operations as a 
thinking power. In his interpretation of the Fable of Pan, 
he gives us some further light, with some more definite ex- 
pression, on this subject, and proceeds thus : — 

" The Xvmphs, that is, souls, please Pan ; for the souls of the living are the 
delight of the world. But he is deservedly the commander of them, since 
they follow, each her own nature as leader, and, with infinite variety, each as 

1 Confession of Faith, Works (Boston), XI Y. 147. 



500 DESTINY. 

if in her own native manner, leap and dance about him, with never ceasing 
motion. And so, some acute one of the moderns has reduced all the facul- 
ties of the soul to Motion, and noted the conceit and precipitation of some 
of the ancients, who, considering of the memory, the imagination, and the 
reason, and, with careless eye, hastily viewing the subject, overlooked the 
Thinking Power, which holds the first place. For whoever remembers, or 
even recollects, thinks; and whoever imagines, likewise thinks; and who- 
ever- reasons, also thinks: indeed the soul, whether prompted b}^ sense, or 
acting by its own permission, whether in the functions of the intellect, or 
in those of the affections and will, leaps to the modulation of thoughts; and 
this is what was meant by the leaping of the Nymphs." 1 

And in the following passage from the " Othello," we may 
discover a similar course of reasoning upon the will, and 
the thinking power acting by its own permission, thus : — 

" lagwj Our bodies are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners; so 
that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up 
thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either 
to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry; why the power 
and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives 
had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and 
baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions : 
but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our un- 
bitted lusts, whereof I take this, that you call love, to be a sect or scion. 

Bod. It cannot be. 

Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will." — 
Act I. Sc. 3. 

A learned interpreter of the Sonnets, bringing the light 
of the " Hermetic Philosophy " to bear upon them, with 
an excellent appreciation of their quality, scope, and pur- 
pose in general, very justly remarks upon the 135th and 
136th, in particular, that " far from being a play upon the 
poet's name, as many suppose," they " contain the poet's 
metaphysical view of God as Power " 2 or Will ; an inter- 
pretation which may find additional warrant in the Baco- 
nian distinction between the human and the divine soul, 
fatally separated from each other (as our Hermetic philoso- 
pher profoundly conceives) by the mystic Wall of the flesh 
or material nature, as illustrated in the " Midsummer Night's 
Dream " ; for, between this poet and the philosopher, there 

i De Aug. Scient., L. II. c. 13. 

2 Remarks on the Sonnets of Shakes., (New York, 1865,) p. 50. 



DESTINY. 501 

is everywhere a remarkable concurrence of idea, and his 
doctrine of the will is made the burden of these singular 
sonnets, running thus : — 

" Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, 
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus; 
More than enough am I that vex thee still, 
To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious, 
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? 
Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? 
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, 
And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will 
One will of mine to make thy large Will more. 

Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; 

Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 

If thy soul check thee that I come so near, 
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, 
And will thy soul knows is admitted there, 
Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil. 
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, 
I fill it full with wills, and my will one, 
In things of great receipt with ease we prove, 
Among a number one is reckon'd none. 
Then in the number let me pass untold, 
Though in thy store's account I one must be, 
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
That nothing me a something sweet to thee: 
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, 
And then thou lov'st me for my name is Will." 1 

When Pyramus and Thisbe both die on the stage, in the 
" Midsummer Night's Dream," the play proceeds thus : — 

" Thes. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. 
Dem. Ay, and Wall too. 

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers." 

Mid. Night's Dr., Act V. Sc. 1. 

There is here most certainly an influx, inspiration, or 
infusion of a power to think ; a power to perceive, conceive, 

1 See also Shakes. Sonnets, (Facsimile of ed. of 1609,) London, 1862; 
which uses italics and capital letters as here printed. 



502 DESTINY. 

remember, and act ; a reason and a power of will that, by its 
own permission, leaps to the modulation of thought. That 
power contains under it the whole content of the term soul, 
a self-acting, self-directing thinking power ; and the analy- 
sis of that content gives the faculties of the soul, or those 
modes of operation, which are called the mental powers. 
This influx of the substance of the soul, as such thinking 
power, is all that comes from that source ; and the conceit 
of a genius, daemon, angel, or any other kind of -soul or 
spirit, accompanying it, lying in behind it, and guiding and 
directing its operations, other than perhaps " the secret will 
and grace " of " the greater providence " itself, he would 
seem to have considered as a visionary invention of the 
imaginations of men. " Divination by influxion " was a 
notion of like nature, "giounded upon this other conceit, 
that the mind, as a mirrour or glass, receives a kind of sec- 
ondary illumination fron v . the foreknowledge of God and 
spirits." * And surely, any supposition of revelations of 
the thoughts, ideas, will, and purposes of God being poured, 
inspired, or breathed, into this soul from this same direc- 
tion, and in addition to the soul itself, like a "flowing 
river," of which the receptive soul is only a sort of " pen- 
sioner " and a " surprised spectator," 2 as some think, or as 
any kind of secondary illumination out of the foreknowl- 
edge of God and spirits, can be no less superstitious and 
absurd than the fantastical vagaries of divination. Soul, 
indeed, streams into man from a source which is hid- 
den, but his thoughts and visions are his own work. No 
knowledge of the supernatural world, nor of the ideas, 
thoughts, purposes, foreknowledge, and providence of God 
in the universe ever did come, nor ever can come, to man 
directly in that way, nor by that road ; though behind this 
soul there may continue to be " the law of his secret will 
and grace," as in the play : — 

1 Trans, of the De Aug., Works (Boston), IX. 53. 

2 Emerson's Essays, First Series (Boston, 1854), p. 244. 



DESTINY. 503 

" K. Ricli. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 
Q. Ellz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny." 

Richard III. Act 1 V. Sc. 4. 

And the witch says of Macbeth, — 

'* He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear." — Act III. Sc. 5. 

And again, the operation of this same grace may be dis- 
tinctly seen in the following lines : — 

u Mal. Comes the King forth, I pray you? 

Doc. Ay, sir : there are a crew of wretched souls, 
^That stay his cure: their malady convinces 
The great assay of art; but at his touch, 
Such sanctity hath Heaven given his hand, 
They presently amend. 

Mai. I thank you, Doctor. [Exit Doctor. 

Macd. What 's the disease he means ? 

Mai. 'T is call' d the evil: 

A most miraculous work in this good king, 
Which often, since my here remain in England, 
I have seen him do. How he solicits Heaven, 
Himself but knows; but strangely-visited people, 
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye. 
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
Put on with holy prayers : and : t is spoken, 
To th' succeeding royalty he leaves 
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, 
And sumry blessings hang about his throne, 
That speak him full of grace." — Macb., Act IV. Sc. 3. 

And in the end, when he has been proclaimed King of 
Scotland, he concludes his speech thus : — 

u Mal. This, and what needful else 

That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
We will perform in measure, time, and place." — Act V. Sc. 7. 

" For we see," says Bacon, " that in matters of faith and 
religion our imagination raises itself above our reason ; not 
that divine illumination resides in the imagination ; its seat 
being rather in the very citadel of the mind and under- 
standing ; but that the divine grace uses the motions of the 
imagination as an instrument of illumination, just as it 



504 DESTINY. 

uses the motions of the will as an instrument of virtue ; 
which is the reason why religion ever sought access to the 
mind by similitudes, types, parables, visions, dreams " : — * 

u Ang. I did but smile till now: 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; 
My patience here is touched. I do perceive, 
These poor informal women are no more 
But instruments of some more mightier member. 
That sets them on." — Meets, for Meas., Act V. Sc. 1. 

Bacon clearly saw, that over and above " this part of 
knowledge touching the soul," there were " two appendices," 
divination and fascination, under which he appears to have 
included all the imaginations, vagaries, and waking dreams 
of oracles, auguries, prophecies, visions and apocalyptic 
revelations, astrology, divination, natural magic, incanta- 
tions, and miracle-working (spiritual-rapping having died 
out for once with the old Montanist schism long before his 
time) ; " for," says he, " they have exalted the power of 
imagination to be much one with miracle-working faith," 
and " have rather vapoured forth fables than kindled truth." 
All this was grounded on the conceit " that the mind, as a 
mirrour or glass, should take illumination from the fore- 
knowledge of God and spirits " (as stated in the Advance- 
ment) ; and the retiring of the mind within itself was the 
state which is most susceptible of these " divine influxions, 
save that it is accompanied, in this case, with a fervency 
and elevation, which the ancients noted for fury." But in 
his opinion, this divination by influxion, or any direct com- 
munication to man out of the foreknowledge of God, or 
spirits, was a mere superstitious conceit, such as had filled 
the heated fancies of the ancient Furies. But this part, he 
continues, " touching angels and spirits I may rather chal- 
lenge as fabulous and fantastical : " — 

"This is the very coinage of your brain: 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in." — Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 4. 

1 Translation of the De Aug., WorJcs (Boston), IX. 61. 



DESTINY. 505 

Not by this way comes the knowledge of God, his thought, 
his purposes, his will, or his providence in the universe, nor 
of the duties, ways to happiness, destiny, or future life of 
man. If he would seek that knowledge, he must address 
himself to the fore-front view of the boundless universe of 
God's thought and providence, and by the light to be 
derived from the study of the laws and nature of thought 
in his own soul, and by the power of thought which is given 
him, and the light which it creates and lets be within him, 
both see and read, in that infinite book of revelation that 
lies wide open before him, as much as it may be in his 
power to comprehend anft contain. It would certainly be 
idle for him to attempt to read any more, and absurd to 
imagine that more could be imparted to him in any way. 
No further revelation is, or ever was, possible to be made 
to any man. No greater revelation can be necessary for 
his use ; for, if he will but open his eyes and look into it, 
if he can but see far enough and deep enough, he may see 
the whole reflected in his own mind, which " God hath 
framed as a mirrour or glass, capable of the image of the 
universal world." 

According to Bacon's interpretation, besides Mercury, 
who was the ordinary messenger, Pan, or the universe, was 
" the other messenger of the gods [" alter Deomm Nun- 
cius "] ; and this was plainly a divine allegory ; since, next 
after the word of God [the usual salvo to the Biblical 
orthodoxies], the image of the world, itself, is the herald of 
the divine power and wisdom ; as the Psalmist also sung, 
" The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament 
showeth his handiwork." 

But it is idle for man, 

— " proud man ! 
Drest in a little brief authority ; 
Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd, 
His glassy essence," 

to look for the image, or the reality, in the back of the mir« 



506 DESTINY. 

ror ; for, in this way, he merely makes a fool of himself, 
and 

"like an angry ape, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
As make the angels weep." 

Measure for Measure, Act II. Sc. 2. 

For nothing can be seen there but that " deceiving and 
deformed imagery," which the mind of man, in any age, 
has been, and is, capable of imagining and representing to 
itself, with or without the help of teacher, prophet, or mes- 
siah ; book, bible, gospel, sermon, speech, or other mode of 
communicating the thoughts and visions of men to one 
another. Nevertheless, men will persist in looking for light 
and knowledge from within and behind the mirror, deceived 
by the miraculous reflection ; for, as Bacon says again, " the 
mind of man (dimmed and clouded as it is by the covering 
of the body), far from being a smooth, clear, and equal 
glass (wherein the beams of things reflect according to 
their true incidence), is rather like an enchanted glass, full 
of superstition and imposture." 1 But in truth and reality, 
" man, as the minister and interpreter of nature, does, and 
understands as much as he has observed of the order, ope- 
ration, and mind of nature ; and neither knows nor is able 
to do more." 2 And " every thing depends upon our fixing 
the mind's eye steadily in order to receive their images 
exactly as they exist, and may God never permit us to give 
out the dream of our fancy as a model of the world, but 
rather in his kindness vouchsafe to us the means of writing 
a revelation and true vision of the traces and stamps of the 
Creator on his creatures " [creations]. And in the plays, 
we have this same metaphorical use of the stamp, thus : — 

"Any. It were as good 

To pardon him that hath from Nature stolen 
A man already made, as to remit 
Their saucy sweetness that do coin Heaven's image 

1 Translation of the De Aug., Works (Boston), IX. 98. 

2 Novum Organum. 



DESTINY. 507 

In stamps that are forbid. 'T is all as easy 
Falsely to take away a life true made, 
As to put metal in restrained means, 
To make a false one. 
hab. 'T is set down so in Heaven, but not in Earth." 

Measure for Measure, Act II. Sc. 4. 
And again thus : — 

"Lear. Hear, Nature! hear, dear goddess, hear! 
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 
To make this creature fruitful ! 

If she must teem, 

Create her child of spleen; that it may live, 
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her! 
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth." 

Lear, Act I. Sc. 4. 

And thus again : — 

" Post!}. We are all bastards; 

And that most venerable man which I 
Did call my father, was I know not where 
When I was stamped." — Cymb., Act II. Sc. 5. 

And in the same play thus : — 

" Cym. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star: 
It was a mark of wonder. 

Bel. This is he, 

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp. 
It was wise Nature's end in the donation, 
To be his evidence now." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

Nothing real is to be discovered in the back of the mirror : 
on the contrary, with all due reverence, " that angel of the 
world," 1 or with the " three reverences " of Goethe, rev- 
erence for what is above us, reverence for what is around 
us, and reverence for what is under us, or Shakespeare's 
reverence for Nature as it stands " in all line of order and 
authentic place," and Bacon's reverence for ourselves, which 
is, " next religion, the chiefest bridle of all vices," 2 and that 
true religion which is founded upon a rock, wherein, accord- 
ing to Goethe, man attains " the highest elevation of which 
he is capable, that of being justified in reckoning himself 
1 Cymb., Act IV. Sc. 2. 2 New Atlantis. 



508 DESTINY. 

the best that God and Nature have produced," let us turn 
about and front the world, with all our faculties, perceptive, 
reflective, creative, intuitive, those first and last God-given 
guides to our steps, our hands, and our souls, with any 
help, indeed, that may come of such as are wiser, better, 
and more able to see than ourselves, whether poet, seer, 
philosopher, or divine, — whatever Saviour may be able to 
save and keep us from falling ; — but never losing sight of 
the mind of Nature and that Immortal Providence, which 
alone is most able to save : " So God created man in his 
own image, in the image of God created he him." There- 
fore must he work and be vigilant, thoughtful, reverential, 
prayerful, hopeful, cheerful, all the days of his life, and 

" fling away ambition; 
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 'tV " 

Hen. VII I., Act III. Sc. 2. 

So, Goethe made the eternal u droning roar " of the universe 
sing through the " huge bass " of the son of Anak, 

" Life's no resting, but a moving, 
Let thy life be Deed on Deed." — Must. Trav., ch. xv. 

And according to Shakespeare, " whatever praises itself but 
in the deed, devours the deed in the praise ; " * or as Doctor 
Faust expounded out of the sacred original, " In the be- 
ginning was the Deed " ; or as Macbeth became thoroughly 
convinced, 

" The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, 

Unless the Deed go with it." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

or as Philo Judaeus interpreted out of the Old Testament, 
man being created in the image of Him, whose Word is his 
Deed ; — or, according to the old Bactrian Zoroaster's 
Ormuzdian Trinity of Thought, Word, and Deed, as taught 
by him in the year 6350 B. C. 2 

The final consummation of all philosophy, in that in- 

1 Tro. and Cr., Act II. Sc. 3. 

2 Bunsen's Egypt's Place in Univ. Hist., III. 472. 



DESTINY. 509 

tended Sixth Part of the Great Installation, was to have 
for its end and object, not merely " contemplative enjoy- 
ment," but " a complete power of action"; for in activity 
is our life and being and our greatest happiness, — 

But that the dread of something after death, — 

The un discover' d. country, from whose bourn 

No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of: 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 

And enterprizes of great pith and moment, 

With this regard their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action." — Ham., Act III. Sc. 1. 

And Troilus, the youngest son of Priam, was 

"a true knight; 
Not yet matured, yet matchless ; firm of word, 
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ; 



Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath, 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
To tender objects; but he, in heat of action, 
Is more vindicative than jealous love." 

Tr. and Or., Act IV. Sc. 5. 

Indeed, as the last outcome of the philosophy of life, all 
men find, with Bacon, that " it is pleasanter to be doing 
than to be enjoying," or, with the play, that 

" Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing." 

Tro. and Or., Act I. Sc. 2. 

But as for the perfect intuition of divine things, as Berkeley 
delivers out of Plato, that must be " the lot of pure souls, 
beholding by a pure light, initiated, happy, free and unre- 
strained from these bodies, wherein we are imprisoned like 
oysters. ... It is Plato's remark in his Thceatetus, that 
while we sit still we are never the wiser, but going into the 
river and moving up and down, is the way to discover its 
depths and shallows. If we exercise and bestir ourselves, 



510 DESTINY. 

we may even here discover something." * As Bacon also 
teaches, " much natural philosophy and wading deep into 
it, will bring about men's minds to religion." There is 
need, too, of great care and an all-seeing vigilance ; for in 
this world-stream in which we swim, there is always some 
danger of drowning. 

While we contemplate the universe as the present state 
of the divine thought, and all objects and things in nature 
as the actual ideas, conceptions, or special creations of the 
divine mind, as form and cause conjoined, infinite par- 
ticulars compacted, combined, compounded, crystallized, 
moulded, and constructed into the universal variety of 
things, all bearing the stamp of the Master Architect, and 
the whole full of movement and motion, from infinitely 
rapid to infinitely slow, an ever-flowing stream in which we 
float, as it stands forth for the time being to the perception 
of our senses and faculties, it must be remembered, also, - 
that into this physical body of ours, existent at any and 
every instant of time as a part of those creations and a part 
of the streaming flow, there is inspired or breathed, or 
rather, specially exhibited within us, from underneath and 
within the physical web, but really from the same creative 
source, and in the same plane, as the physical creation 
itself, this finite metaphysical manifestation of that same 
infinite power of thought itself, and in essence identical with 
it so far, which, under its special limitations in this finite 
form, constitutes the soul as a special power of thought of 
the same nature, and therefore in itself self-acting and self- 
directing cause so far, and, as such, a self-moving soul ; 
but limited thus in degree of power and in mode of activity 
and in manner of exhibition of itself, invested as it is with 
the surrounding web and fabric of the whole physical 
universe, the rest of creation ; and so, coming to have a 
certain specific total constitution as a created object and a 
special subject combined in one — a man ; because it is 

i Berkeley's Slris, Works (Dublin), II. 627. 



DESTINY. 511 

most true, says Bacon, " that of all things comprehended 
within the compass of the universe, man is a thing most 
mixed and compounded, insomuch that he was well termed 
by the ancients a little world " (microcosmus) : — 

" Eos. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? 
Ham. Compounded it with dust whereto 't is kin " ; — 

and Mark Antony, describing the virtues of the " great 

Caesar," says : — • 

" His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, 
And say to all the world, This was a man ! " 

Jul Cces., Act V. Sc. 5. 

And so of Imogen, in the " Cymbeline," Cloten says : — 

" I love and hate her, for she 's fair and royal; 
And that she hath all courtly parts, more exquisite 
Than lady, ladies, woman : from every one 
The best she hath; and she, of all compounded, 
Outsells them all." — Act HI. Sc. 5. 

For while, in this, we have at bottom merely two man- 
ifestations, or exertions, of one and the same creative power 
of thought, meeting from opposite directions, and, as it 
were, a convolution of the divine thought upon itself, or of 
one conception, or thing, upon another, there is this dif- 
ference, nevertheless, to be observed, that the exhibition 
of the creative power, on the physical side, is more limited 
and in some measure fixed, more or less permanently, and 
so carried forward in time in the divine remembrance, 
w T herein is the equilibrium of stationary balance and the 
stability and permanence of the whole universe in so far as 
it is ever stable and permanent : w T hile that exhibition or ex- 
ertion of the same power, which comes in the opposite di- 
rection (so to speak), and constitutes the essence of the soul, 
has a greater degree of liberty, though still limited in extent 
and sphere of activity, and in amount of power, by the very 
nature and mode of its constitution as a speciality of think- 
ing essence, acting under the necessary laws of all thought, 



512 DESTINY. 

and being in itself an exertion or exhibition, in a special 
way, of the one causative and creative power itself; as a 
wave of the ocean is, and is not ocean. And thus the soul 
comes to have a certain special existence as a special caus- 
ative and creative power of thought, when considered by 
itself, together with a special consciousness of its own, and 
a certain limited sphere of liberty, free-will, and power of 
choice, beyond which and the farthest range thereof, and 
beyond the possible extent of practical' effect of the soul's 
own action, all is the order of divine providence in the rest 
of the universe, and, as such, absolute fate for this soul, 
(being that fate which is providence, according to Bacon,) 
except in so far as the order of that providence may be 
changed in any instant (if it so please the Divine Majesty) 
to help and save such soul from its own follies and the 
innumerable traps into which it may blunder ; and, as con- 
sequent upon that liberty, a certain degree of moral ac- 
countability, proportionate to the sphere of liberty and the 
given amount of power, and no further, on pain of imme- 
diate, ultimate, and inevitable consequences just so far. 
The unavoidable, irresistible, and terrible nature of fate, at 
once scourge of the vicious, heedless, reckless, and unwise, 
and affliction of the wisest and best, wherein " unaccom- 
modated man " may find himself no more but " a poor, 
forked animal," or even worse, is portrayed in awful sub- 
limity in the great play of Lear : — 

" Lear. Now, all the plagues, that in the pendulous air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 

Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdued nature 
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? 
Judicious punishment ! 't was this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters." — Act III, Sc. 4. 

This author seems to have had very clear conceptions of 
the nature of providence and fate, and of that fate which 



DESTINY. 513 

is also providence ; and he was able to illustrate by ex- 
amples in the grandest style of the dramatic art in what 
manner the blind man, or the man with eyes which do not 
see, though wide open and looking square into the universe 
around him, nevertheless, goes blundering on all sides into 
the traps of inevitable fate : not that it is possible for the 
farthest-sighted seer wholly to avoid them ; but that, if this 
lesser providence will take due note of the Greater Provi- 
dence, and accommodate himself to the majestic onward 
flow of the divine plan, he may have some chance of keep- 
ing clear of the Juggernautic wheels ; and at all events, it 
will be so much the better for him. And if, like Macbeth, 
he will seek " metaphysical aid," he must take care to look 
in the right direction for it. Macbeth had faith in it, but 
mistook the way : — 

" Lady 31. Hie thee hither, 

That I may pour my spirits in thine ear, 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
Which Fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
To have thee crown'd withal." — Act I. Sc. 5. 

Macbeth thought to find it in the vaticinations of witches,, 
as many others have sought to find it in natural magic, 
Dodonian oracles, pontifical auguries, Hebrew prophecies, 
gospel inspirations, mystical spirit-rappings, and such other 
bottomless follies as should rather be swept into the limbo 
of Paracelsus, and only discovered his mistake when it was. 
too late : — 

" Mad). Accursed be the tongue that tells me so, 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man: 
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, 
That palter with us in a double sense ; 
That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
And break it to our hope." — Act V. Sc. 7. 

There were to be, in Solomon's House, " houses of deceits 
of the senses, where we represent all manner of feats of 
juggling, false apparitions, impostures, and illusions ; and 
their fallacies." 

33 



514 DESTINY. 

Hence we have, added to the creations and doings of the 
divine mind, as such, the special creations, perceivings, and 
doings of the finite soul, as such ; and in true statement, 
the universe is the thought of God, the uncreated thinker, 
plus the thought of all finite created thinkers ; for the ani- 
mal kingdom is to be included, down to the last point where 
a self-directing cause appears in action under a special con- 
sciousness, however limited ; where conscious mind passes 
into mere unconscious instinctive function, existing and 
being moved under the divine consciousness alone ; where, 
as Bacon expresses it, " art or man is added to the uni- 
verse " ; and " it must almost necessarily be concluded," 
he continues, " that the human soul is endued with provi- 
dence, not without the example, intention, and authority of 
the greater providence." * This art has as wide a range in 
nature as the special creator : in man, it becomes a kind of 
lesser providence. " Man, too," says another philosopher, 
" creates and conquers kingdoms from the barren realms 
of Darkness, to increase the happiness, and dignity, and 
power of all men." 2 All art is creation, as Plato said : 
" For that which is the cause of anything coming out of 
non-existence into existence is altogether a creation. So 
that all the operations effected by all the arts are creations ; 
and all the makers of them are creators, are poets 

{TTOlTjTai.y 3 

This art may begin in a microscopic animalcule, or if not 
there, in the least ganglioned structure in which the eye of 
science can detect a self-acting and self-directing cause. It 
may live the life of an encrinite, and find its whole scope 
of activity in a stony cup. It may rule on the bosom of 
a swarm of organic instincts in the bee. It may have the 
eyes, fins, ink-bag, and hydraulic apparatus of the cuttle- 
fish, and swim the ocean, being to some extent its own 

1 Be Sap. Vet, Works (Boston), XIII. 44. 

2 Carlyle's Life of Schiller, 239. 

3 Banquet, Works (Bohn), III. 539. 



DESTINY. 515 

pilot and protector ; or it may have a higher organization, 
a greater amount of power, and a greater range of think- 
ing faculty, in the fish, reptile, bird, mammal, ape, or oldest 
Tertiary, or Quaternary, inventor of the flint axe, or ear- 
liest Papuan, Negro, or Titicacan, even up to the highest 
intelligence, widest range of liberty, and largest amount of 
power of thought and action in the latest and best Cauca- 
sian man ; and, in each degree of the great scale of being, 
have its own appropriate share in the management of its 
own affairs, and, in some sort, the affairs of the universe ; 
acting so far on its own responsibility, and helping, or as it 
may be, not helping, God create a world of order, art, ex- 
cellence, and beauty. So, from the beginning, man has 
been a creator, according to his ability, of stone axe, bronze 
axe, iron axe ; bow and arrow, canoe, and skin-tent ; hut, 
plough, and shop ; picture-writing, hieroglyphics, alphabets ; 
house, temple, and city ; civil polity, sacred scripture, and 
jurisprudence ; poetry, history, literature ; science, arts, 
commerce ; philosophy and religious culture ; and the sum 
total of human civilization on this globe ; for all is the 
work of his art, invention, and industry, and a creation of 
his thought. There is no end to his creative function ; and 
his highest happiness, and his greatest good, is in being 
a creator. Carlyle agrees with the old monks, that " work 
is worship ; " and, certainly, Plato was not far from the 
same teaching, when he said : " But I will lay this down, 
that the things which are said to be made by nature, are 
(made) by divine art ; but that the things, which are com- 
posed from these by men, are produced by human art ; and 
that according to this assertion, there are two kinds of the 
making art, one human, and the other divine." 1 

Bacon appears to have entertained the same opinion ; 

and carrying this philosophy of art into his own studies of 

nature, he concludes, after much consideration, " to assign 

the Natural History of Arts as a branch of Natural History, 

1 Sophist, Works (Bohn), III. 180. 



516 DESTINY. 

because an opinion hath a long time gone current as if art 
were some different thing from nature, and artificial from nat- 
ural." * But he has ascertained that " nature is either free, 
unfolding itself in its own accustomed course as in the heav- 
ens, in animals and plants, and in the whole apparatus of 
the universe ; or, by the perverse and intractable qualities 
of matter and the violence of impediments, it is detruded 
from its own proper state, as in monstrosities ; or, again, it 
is constrained, fashioned, and, as it were, made anew, by 
the art and work of man, as in artificial productions " ; that 
these, again, differ from the natural, not in " the form and 
essence " of the thing itself, but only in respect of " the 
efficient cause," or the " restrained means " ; that man has 
no power over the nature of things, beyond a power of 
moving, so as to apply, or remove, natural bodies ; and 
therefore, when natural bodies are applied, or removed, 
conjoining (as they say) the active with the passive, man 
can do everything : where this is not granted, nothing. 
Nor does it matter, if things are placed in order for a cer- 
tain effect, whether it be done by man or without man." 
And so we see, that " while Nature governs all, these three 
things are in subordination, — the course of Nature, the de- 
viation of Nature, and art or man added to things." So 
far the De Augmentis ; and in the Advancement, he lays 
down, also, that " it is the duty of art to perfect and exalt 
nature " : — 

" so, o'er that art, 
Which, you say, adds to Nature, is an art 
That Nature makes." — Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 3. 

As we learn from the Wisdom of the Ancients, the story 
of Atalanta was " an excellent allegory, relating to the con- 
test of Art and Nature ; for Art, which is meant by Ata- 
lanta, is in itself, if nothing stand in the way, far swifter 
than Nature, and as we may say, the better runner, and 
comes sooner to the goal. For this may be seen in almost 
1 De Aug. Sclent., II. c. 2. 



DESTINY. 517 

everything ; you see, that fruit grows slowly from the ker- 
nel, swiftly from the graft : " — 

" You see, sweet maid, we marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock " ; — 

but, "it is no wonder if Art cannot outstrip Nature, but 
according to the agreement and condition of the contest, 
put her to death or destroy her ; but. on the contrary, Art 
remains subject to Nature as the wife is subject to the 
husband." And, with but a slight change of the word out- 
strip for outwent, we may discover the same idea in these 
lines of the " Cymbeline " : — 

"lack. The chimney 

Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece, 
Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves: the cutter 
Was another nature dumb, —outwent her, 
Motion and breath left out." — Act II. Sc. 4. 

Darwin, prying into this subject from a merely geological 
point of view, and with the help of all that science had 
done for him since Bacon's time, discovers only that, by a 
certain kind of manipulation and tampering, he can pro- 
duce all manner of domestic breeds and varieties, and, in 
short, almost, if not quite, an actual difference of species : 
whence he concludes, that what creates a difference of species 
in nature is, not any art in nature, but a certain blind mani- 
pulation of mere circumstances and conditions, — variation, 
divergence, inheritance, natural selection, struggle for life, 
and the like, — on a basis of dead substratum and the 
properties thereof, " laws acting " * included ; as if, these 
being given, an animal could create himself as easily as 
wink. It seems never to have occurred to him, that any 
efficient and essential cause, or creative power, was at all 
necessary in the business ; much less, tha'; he should under- 
take to inquire what that cause is, or the nature of it, 
'hough so plainly in action there under his very eyes. Much 

1 Darwin's Origin of Species (New York, 1860), 42-4. 



518 DESTINY. 

better and decidedly more Baconian, is the philosophy of 
the poet, Cowper : — 

" Bui how should matter occupy a charge, 
Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 
So vast in its demands, unless impell'd 
To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, 
And under pressure of some conscious cause ? 
The Lord of all, himself through all diffus'd, 
Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. 
Nature is but a name for an effect, 
Whose cause is God." — Task, Booh VI. 

Darwin reasons thus : A species can be made to vary : 
therefore species is not immutable. Good. But Agassiz 
will not agree that Mr. Darwin can manipulate a new 
species into being ; but only a transient variety, though 
presenting differences as wide as a difference of species, 
not a permanent species in nature; and he thinks the logic 
should run thus : Man manipulates a temporary variety into 
.being ; ergo, God created the permanent species. Good, 
again. But what if the temporary variety should continue 
permanent for a thousand years ? or what if the permanent 
species should actually continue to change through the next 
geological period ? According to Bacon, this art of ma- 
nipulation, or placing things in order for a certain effect, 
whether by man, or without man, is not, after all, anything 
different from nature, nor artificial from natural, in respect 
of the form and essence of the thing : the art itself is in 
the " order, operation, and Mind of Nature." Man, with 
his manipulation, can only help a little. 

Now, in the year 1611, we find Sir Francis Bacon in full 
possession of Gorhambury and the beautiful gardens there, 
always a student and lover of Nature and a curious ob- 
server of her ways, in gardens or elsewhere, now diligently 
experimenting upon the natures of plants, flowers, and 
fruits, marshalling in their proper seasons rosemary and 
rue, primrose, violets, cowslips, hyssop and germander, — 

" Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
The marigold, that goes to bed with th' sun, 
And with him rises, weeping; '' 



DESTINY. 519 

practising in the art of grafting and the art of manipula- 
tion for producing new varieties, " carnations of several 
stripes " x and " streak'd gilliflowers " ; 2 trying " what 
natures do accomplish what colours, for by that you shall 
have light how to induce colours by producing those 
natures ; " grafting " several scions upon several boughs of 
a stock " ; gathering " the excellent dew of knowledge, dis- 
tilling and contriving it out of particulars natural and 
artificial, as the flowers of the field and garden." 3 He has 
lately published the Wisdom of the Ancients, and learned 
from the fable of Atalanta as well as from his own ex- 
perience, that art is swifter than nature, yet cannot out- 
strip nature, but must remain subject to her, as the wife is 
subject to the husband. 

The nuptials of the young Princess Elizabeth, afterwards 
Queen of Bohemia, are about to be celebrated at Court, 
with masques, triumphs, and stage-plays for many months. 
The succession to the Attorney- General's place as well as 
fables and gilliflowers, the art of politics as well as the art 
of nature, is constantly running in his mind. He is now in 
the mood for attempting another model, and the " Winter's 
Tale " shortly makes its appearance. As usual he snatches 
up any old romance that will serve for the germ of the story, 
so much the better if it be well-known and popular ; and 
the popular tale of " Dorastus and Fawnia " is laid hold of 
for the present occasion. Perdita, the lost child of the King 
of Sicily, is cast away upon " the deserts of Bohemia/' — ■ 
his Bohemia will have shores if need be ; why not ? — and 
the young Perdita shall be brought up in a cottage among 
clowns as the daughter of an old shepherd ; and this "gent- 
ler scion," growing upon " the wildest stock," will furnish a 
happy instance of the grafting art in the higher kind. But 

1 Natural History, §§ 501, 507, 510. 

2 Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 3. Mr. White reads " gillivors," which is the 
Did form of the word. 

3 Advancement Book II. 



520 DESTINY. 

at sweet sixteen, this " bud of nobler race " shall be clearly 
distinguishable still from u a bark of baser kind," at least 
to a king's son Florizel ; but " the rule is certain, that plants 
for want of culture degenerate to be baser in the same 
kind," though 

" Wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
Neighbour' d by fruit of baser quality." — Sonnet. 

As is his wont, he will himself put on the mask, and slip 
into the scene in all characters, more especially, here, in the 
character of Polixenes, King of Bohemia, and, into the 
mouth of this blooming child of nature, returned fresh from 
her "rustic garden," with whole handfuls of the "fairest 
flowers o' the season," rosemary and rue, — 

" Carnations, and streak'd gilliflowers, 
Which some call Nature's bastards," — 

he will put the best results of his latest meditations upon 
the art and mystery of Nature. For even Perdita had 

" heard it said 
There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
With great creating Nature. 

Pol. Say there be ; 

Yet Nature is made better by no mean, 
But Nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, 
Which, you say, adds to Nature, is an art, 
That Nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race. This is an art 
Which does mend Nature, — change it rather; but 
The art itself is Nature.' 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilliflowers, 
And do not call them bastards." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

In the " Natural History," identical ideas, words, and ex- 
pressions occur, if indeed any possible doubt could remain 
of the identity of the philosopher and the poet here ; as for 
instance : — 

" First, therefore, you must make account, that if you will have one plant 
change into another, you must have the nourishment overrule the seed :".... 



DESTINY. 521 

"This I conceive also, that all esculent and garden herbs, set upon the 
tops of hills, will prove more medicinal, though less esculent than they were 
before." 

" The second rule shall be, to bury some few seeds of the herb you would 
change amongst other seeds; " 

" In which operation the process of nature still will be 'as I conceive . not 
that the herb you work upon should draw the juice of the foreign herb [for 
that opinion we have formerly rejected), but there will be a new confection 
of mould., which perhaps will alter the seed, and yet not to the kind of the 
former herb."* 

'■ The sixth rule shall be. to make plants grow out of the sun or open air; 
for that is a great mutation in nature, and may induce a change in the 
seed."' 

,; Some experiment would be made, how by art to make plants more last- 
ing than their ordinary period." — NaL Hist.. § 527. 531, 587. 

Here, the identity of the idea is clear enough, and the 
same use of the words change, baser kind, and art. is quite 
palpable ; and especially the outcropping of the same word 
conceive is one of those singular instances of the manner in 
which the vocabulary of the same author will pass into 
writings of a very different nature, but upon kindred topics, 
all unconsciously, perhaps, to the author himself. 

We know from many parts of Bacon's writings, as well 
as from his personal biography, that he took great delight 
in gardens and flowers. The Essay on Gardens is alone 
sufficient to show that he had a delicate appreciation of 
this kind of beauty, as well as an exquisite taste in the art, 
of which he was himself a great master. He begins by 
saying, te God Almighty first planted a garden;'*' and he 
speaks of it as " the purest of human pleasures.'" He holds 
that " there ought to be gardens for all the months of the 
year : in which severally things of beauty may be then in 
season " ; and he proceeds to name the flowers proper to 
each month and season. Now, the flowers named in the 
:ottage-scene of the fourth act of the - Winter's Tale '' 
appear to have been drawn from one and the same cal- 
endar, and in about the same order as those of the Essay, 
as thus : — 

M Tor December, and January, and the latter part of Xovember. you must 



522 DESTINY. 

take such things as are green all winter: holly, ivy; rosemary; 

lavender; germander; and myrtles, if they be stoved; and sweet 

marjoram warm set: " — 

"Per. Reverend sirs, 

For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep 
Seeming and savour all the Winter long: 

Pol Shepherdess, 

(A fair one are you,) well you tit our ages 
With flowers of Winter." 
" And trial would be made of grafting of rosemary, and bays, and box, 
upon a holly-stock; because they are plants that come all winter." — Nat. 
Hist, § 592. 

" There followeth, for the latter part of January and February, the meze- 

reon-tree, which then blossoms; primroses; anemones; the early 

tulippa; For March, there come violets, specially the single blue, 

which are the earliest; the yellow daffodil; the daisy; sweet briar. 

In April follow the double white violet; the wall-flower; the stock gilli- 
flower; the cowslip; flower de-luces, and lilies of all natures; rosemary-flow- 
ers; the tulippa; the double piony; the pale daffodil ; " 

u Per. Out, alas! 

You 'd be so lean, that blasts of January 

Would blow you through and through. — Now, my fair'st friend, 
I would I had some flowers o' th' Spring, that might 
Become your time of day; and yours; and yours; 

daffodils, 

That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, 
That, die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 
The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one ! " — Act I V. Sc. 3. 

"In May and June come pinks of all sorts, specially the bluish pink; 

roses of all kinds, except the musk which comes later; the French 

marigold; lavender in flowers In July come gilliflowers 

of all varieties ; 

11 Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 
Not yet on Summer's death, nor on the birth 
Of trembling Winter, — the fairest flowers o' th' season 
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilliflowers, 
Which some call Nature's bastards: of that kind 
Our rustic garden 's barren; and I care not 
To get slips of them 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 523 

Here *s flowers for you; 
Hot lavender, mint, savory, marjoram; 
The mangold, that goes to bed with th' sun: 
And with him rises, weeping: these are flowers 
Of middle Summer, and I think they Te given 
To men of middle age/ 1 — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

And as another instance of the source of Bacon's met- 
aphors, it may be noted that in a letter to Burghley he uses 
this expression : " though it bear no fruit yet it is one of 
the fairest flowers of my poor estate ; " 1 which is repeated 
in another letter of the same year thus : bi I will present 
your Lordship with the fairest flower of my estate, though 
it yet bear no fruit." 2 

Mr. Spedding notices these resemblances, and observes, 
that if this Essay had been contained in the earlier edition, 
some expressions would have made him suspect that Shake- 
speare had been reading it 3 : and well they might. But it 
was not printed until 1625, and,, of course, William Shake- 
speare could never have seen it. Nor is it at all probable 
that Bacon would have anything to learn of William Shake- 
speare concerning the science of gardening. In short, 
when the Essay and the play are read together, written as 
they both are, in that singular style of elegance, brevity, 
and beauty, and depth of science, which is so markedly 
characteristic of this author, whether in verse or prose, it 
becomes next to impossible to doubt of his identity. 

§ 3. THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

"Whence it may be understood how it must be impossible 
that any knowledge out of the foreknowledge of God, or 
through- angels, daemons, or spirits, or any information of 
his actual thoughts, intentions, purposes, or future prov- 
idence, through divination, influxion, inspiration, or any 
kind of special illumination, can be imparted, or directly 

1 Letter (1597), II. Spedding. 52. 

2 Letter to Egerton (1597), Ibid. 62. 

3 Works (Boston), XII. 235. 



524 THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

communicated, to man from within, behind, and beyond the 
origin and source of his own soul. Indeed, in this sense 
of foreknowledge, there is none possible with God himself, 
within the power of human conception ; for, with him, to 
think and know T is to create and bring into actual existence 
what is thought and known. The actual present state of 
his thought, in any instant, is the real universe that lies 
before us and around us. His purposes therein are re- 
vealed to us only in the providential order and scientific 
history of the past and present universe. The future con- 
tinuity of the creation must depend, for the actual details 
thereof, upon his future thought and the plan and purpose 
that may be therein, in the freedom of his power or will ; 
and it must be forever impossible to be foreknown to Him, 
or revealed to us. Man premeditates : God creates. Eis 
thought, his word, is his deed. Though man's thought be 
his deed, in respect of his own creative thinking, and his 
imaginations, his conceptions, according to Spinoza, ' w re- 
garded in themselves, contain no error," it is not always so, 
when regarded with reference to things external to them, 
nor in his execution of his thought into outward act, nor 
in his judgment of the works of other men ; much less, in 
his conceptions of the works and providence of God. The 
difference between the human mind and the divine mind 
must no more be lost sight of than their identity, in so far 
as identical. The common conception of Deity as of a 
being who reasons, deliberates, premeditates, and thinks 
within himself, before acting and creating ; who frames 
ideals, types, and archetypes in his mind, first, and then 
moulds the chaos of dead matter into some degree of con- 
formity with them, and gradually builds up a universe upon 
a preconceived and well-considered plan, like a common 
carpenter, who is angry and pleased, is offended and pro- 
pitiated, and rewards and punishes, after the manner of 
men, is a weak invention, a mere waking dream, and the 
offspring of superficial and uncritical thinking. 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 525 

Nor much better is that other view, that takes the 
universe indeed, to have been " the free conception of the 
Almighty Intellect," but as having been " matured in his 
thought before it was manifested in tangible forms," as if 
there had been " premeditation prior to the act of creation," 1 
and concludes from a consideration of the entire order of 
the animal kingdom, that " the whole was devised in order 
to place man at the head," and that " millions of ages ago, 
his coming was seen as the culmination of the thought, 
which devised the fishes and the lowest radiata." 2 For, 
duly considered, there is here no other anticipation neces- 
sarily, or logically, to be inferred than this : that when the 
first ideal type, for instance, the cell, wherein is the funda- 
mental unity of type of the whole animal kingdom, was 
conceived and executed as one act in the actual creation 
of the first animal cell that was created, the entire ideal 
architectonic of the whole kingdom, man included, was then, 
as it may truly be said, merely within the bounds of the 
possible for the creative power, acting under the necessary 
laws of thought and in accordance with the divine nature 
and in consistency with his attributes of wisdom and good- 
ness, within the scope and scheme of that most general 
type, whenever it should please the Divine Majesty further 
to conceive and execute other less general types in other 
actual details (still falling under that most general type, if 
it should so please him), in the order of his providence in 
the work of creating an animal kingdom. But until so 
actually conceived and brought into existence as a part of 
his thought, for the rest uncreated, it need be considered 
only as being as yet in possibility, and still lying in ail the 
possibilities of his thinking existence, not yet thought out 
of non-existence even into the divine contemplation in any 
sense of preliminary premeditation ; for He is that absolute 
p ower of Thought, with whom " being and knowing " are 

1 Agassiz's Contrib. to Nat. Hist, of N. Amer., I. 9. 

2 Agassiz's Remarks^ {Am. Sci. Disc. 1856.) 



526 THE GREATEPw PROVIDENCE. 

one, whose knowledge is that Sapience which is at once 
both knowledge and wisdom in all that is, or will be, 
created, and with whom, to think is to create just so far 
and no further ; and so, in like manner, of any secondary 
and subordinate type, or less general ideal plan, in any 
branching direction, in time and space, of Branch, Class, 
Order, Genus, Species, or Individual, even to the minutest 
details, in the actual order of their creation and succession, 
existence and disappearance, in geological consecutiveness 
and progression ; individuals, only, having actual existence 
in time and space, form and cause conjoined, so as to 
present " tangible forms " and physical existence in nature,, 
recognizable to human senses, scopes, instruments, and all 
the methods of experimental science, and copyable and 
conceivable to the human mind, no less and no more than 
those intangible ideal and more general forms, types, and 
archetypes, which fall within the scope of the intellectual 
vision and metaphysical science only ; for this science alone 
can discover, or see, the transcendental architectonic of the 
universe. And we have on the geological tablets and in 
living nature a record sufficient, when thoroughly studied, 
to enable us to penetrate the mystery, to see through nature 
up to nature's author, and finally to grasp a true science 
of the whole creation by that way, whenever we shall have 
arrived with Bacon at a knowledge of " the order, operation, 
and Mind of Nature " and that truth which, by the oath of 
Lear, was to be Cordelia's dower : — 

" Lear. So young, and so untender? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so : thy truth, then, be thy dower: 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night, 
By all the operation of the orbs, 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be, 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
Propinquity and property of blood, 
And as a stranger to my heart and me, 
Hold thee from this forever.' ' — Lear, Act I. Sc. 1. 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 527 

But we should take care, also, with Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, 
not to lend to God any intentions, but to observe and study 
the fact, and read the plan and intent therein, as a " rev- 
elation and true vision " of the actual thought of the Creator 
as it is found presented to us in the existent creation, or in 
what remains of any past creation, resting assured, all the 
while, that no thought, nor creation,. is at all possible with- 
out plan and purpose therein. Nor need we expect to find 
any record, fossil or other, of any past creation that had no 
plan in it, nor imagine that any future creation will be 
given without a plan therein ; though there has certainly 
been, and doubtless there will be, more or less of continuous 
change of plan in respect of the details, parts, or even whole 
of any given creation. And in respect of the fossil order 
and succession of animals, through the changing surfaces 
of past time, as in respect of the existing order and succes- 
sion of them, in space, on the present surface of the globe, 
still as ever changing, when we collect, arrange, and classify 
the facts in a scientific manner, according to the ideal 
architectonic which our minds are capable of discovering 
in them, we may then find revealed to us therein what was 
the plan and purpose of the Creator in them so far, and 
what was the actual course of change of plan and purpose 
in them as they successively came into existence and dis- 
appeared, without need of any supposed premeditation 
further concerning them. 

And herein, also, we may see how the thought of the 
Creator is indeed simultaneous in respect of any whole 
present state thereof, and also consecutive, no less than 
human thought, in respect of all change therein ; inasmuch 
as it is continually streaming into time and space in nature, 
and continually vanishing out, or not vanishing, into ob- 
livion, according as it may, or may not, be held in existence 
for the time being in the continuity of the Divine Remem- 
brance. And of all this Plato had some knowledge, though 
not in that more exact and particular detail of natural laws 



528 THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

and physical facts in which our modern science also dis- 
covers it ; for he, at least, among the ancients, taught much 
the same doctrine, when he said that " that which is the 
cause of anything coming out of non-existence into existence 
is altogether a creation ; " that all creation is a work of art, 
divine or human ; and that a destructive change of thought 
whereby something vanishes out of existence into non- 
existence, — " do we not call this oblivion, Simmias, the 
loss of knowledge " ? 

The fact of the Divine Existence, his nature, power, 
laws, wisdom, goodness, love, and perfection, being eternal 
facts, or unalterable necessities, or unchangeable attributes 
of his being, must be always known to him ; and they may 
be always known, foreknown, and predicted by us with un- 
erring certainty; and likewise even the general stability of 
the universe, the revolution of the heavenly bodies, an 
eclipse, or other like natural phenomena, so far as neces- 
sarily involved in that nature, those laws, and those attri- 
butes, and so far as necessarily implied in that general 
stability. So far as these things depend upon the necessary 
laws of thought and those unchanging attributes, and so 
far as in respect of them the Divine Remembrance is ever 
continuous, our knowledge of them may amount to definite 
and certain prevision ; for of these things knowledge is 
. foreknowledge always : — 

" Imog. Who? thy lord? that is my lord: Leonatus. 
0, learn'd, indeed, were that astronomer, 
That knew the stars, as I his characters ; 
He'd lav the future open." — Cym., Act III. Sc. 2. 

But over and above and beyond these eternal facts and 
necessary law 7 s, the particular changes that may take place 
in the existent creation, or the particular details that may 
be given in any new creation in future time and space, can 
only be matter of probability and conjecture to man, 
grounded on his knowledge of God, and on what he may 
come to know of the past and present providential order, 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 529 

plan, and purpose as disclosed in a scientific history and 
true knowledge of the universe so far ; for all this must 
depend upon his free will, which must remain forever free. 
Absolute foreknowledge in this would reduce God and his 
universe to mere necessity, fixed fate, and foreordination 
absolute, and the order of his providence to a blind, im- 
movable, inevitable fatality, and world-machine. There is 
no conceivable possibility of such foreknowledge, and any 
attempt to conceive it, or state it, must always end in con- 
tradiction and absurdity : therefore no revelation out of any 
such foreknowledge can possibly be made to man in any 
way, and none such ever was made. 

We should not attempt to conceive of God as a being 
outside the universe itself, and simply operating upon a 
self-subsistent dead matter as a something coeternal with 
him and distinct from his own thinking essence, substance* 
or power, but rather as the Master Architect, who works 
with his own materials, indeed, in the structure-building 
process of construction of a universe, but who is, at the 
same time, that absolute and sovereign architect, who first 
forms his own materials in whatever infinitesimal atoms, or 
thinnest imponderable ethers, and, as it were, Arachne- 
like, spins his material out of the one substance of all sub- 
stances, himself, and builds ether upon ether, atom upon 
atom, crystal upon crystal, cell upon cell, and structure upon 
structure, throughout the fabric of nature, beginning the 
work at the point of beginning of all creation, where infin- 
ite passes into finite, and is bounded out of all the possi- 
bilities of a thinking power ; as when the sixty-two simple 
substances (more or less) were created ; or as when this 
evolving and constructing power, starting at the germinal 
dot, or innermost centre of the innermost vesicle of the 
seed, or the egg, spins the thread and weaves the tissue out 
of existing materials, and builds up a shoot, or an embryo, 
breathing into it, or exhibiting within it, at the same time, 
as much life, or as much soul, as it needs, or can have. 
34 



530 THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

And it is precisely at such point, always, that a mathemati- 
cal science of force, motion, revolution, number, magnitude* 
quantity, proportion, and instrumentation, begins to be 
possible ; for mathematics is the science of the laws of 
thought, creative or destructive, under which the actual 
given creation comes forth into existence, and alone can 
come : of which science of laws, again, knowledge is fore- 
knowledge always, just so far. But for the rest, it must be 
left to the fabled three, Clotho, the spinner, Nemesis, the 
fate which is judicial providence, and Atropos, whose tear- 
less shears are necessity and death. 

What is given in the origin of the finite soul, is the special 
thinking power. That power is simply a specialization of 
the total divine power of thought ; and it is of the very 
essence and nature of that power to be self-acting and 
self-directing cause, and self-moving soul ; or nearly what 
Bacon calls " the highest generality of motion or summary 
law of nature," which God would u still reserve within his 
own curtain." 1 There is a difference between power and 
will, and between will and free-will. Will is that which 
measures the given amount of power, and the totality of all 
power ; and it is not free. It is a necessary fact : it merely 
expresses the fact of the existence of the power in its act- 
ual totality. The power as such totality is by its own 
nature necessarily in activity as self-acting and self-direct- 
ing cause : this is a part of the fundamental fact of its 
existence. Free-will, again, is not the active, choosing, 
and directing cause, or power itself, but only the freedom 
of the power as choosing cause, and that which admits of 
difference of direction of the power which exists already as 
self-acting and self-directing cause. Free-will expresses 
only that necessary law and condition of all thinking, 
wherein is the possibility of duality, plurality, difference, 
variety, coordination, opposition, and involution of particu- 
lars, in the creation of conceptions : it is merely freedom 
as one of the possibilities of a thinking existence. 

1 Valerius Terminus, 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 531 

But besides the freedom which exists under this inner 
law of thought, there is another kind of freedom for a finite 
soul ; and that is freedom of practical action and effect, 
or operation, upon the body and the rest of the external 
world ; for which the limitations are the order of divine 
providence in the rest of the universe external to the soul, 
and which, beyond the extent to which it may be modified 
or changed, by the action of the soul upon it as causative 
power, must exist as absolute fate for the soul. In that 
change, there is necessarily a certain concurrence in the 
mind of the Creator, ending in an equilibrium of stationary 
balance, depending on the necessary general stability of the 
whole and the essential natures of particular things, the 
providential plan in the distribution of particulars in the 
universal variety, the amount of power given and exerted 
in the twofold direction, and the extent and scope of lib- 
erty allowed to the finite soul as a practical free agent. 

The direction cannot precede the power. Some direc- 
tion must follow, of necessity, the activity of the power. A 
point cannot move without creating a line, straight, or 
curved, nor create a line without moving ; nor move with- 
out causative power. Movement, that is, creation, begins 
at a mathematical point ; and on this fundamental truth 
Newton based the Calculus." * The direction must begin at 
exactly the same point in time and space as the activity of 
the power. Free-will is that freedom or liberty on all 
sides, in which is determined the direction of the power in' 
action as self-directing cause, within the given range of 
liberty, one way rather than another, giving the straight 
line, or the curve, and what line, and what curve. Will is 
that which necessitates some direction, and some line, or 
some curve, the power being in activity as an ultimate fact 
The range of free-will for the finite soul is circumscribed 
by the limitations of its own specially constituted sphere of 
activity, consisting of the given limited amount of power 
l Princijpia, Bk. I., § 1, Lemma II. 



532 THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

and the inner laws of power as thought, on the one side, 
and of the outer world, the external order of providence, 
or fate, on the other side ; within which arise and exist all 
the external and foreign limiting determinators'of the self- 
directing power, the inner metaphysical and necessary, the 
external physical, whether fixed, or variable, the judicial, 
the moral, the aesthetical, and the religious ; and the range 
of liberty is given in the whole sphere thus constituted. 
Will, measuring the total amount of power, the inner limit 
of freedom on that side, expresses the fact of its existence 
and the necessity of some action and some direction, if 
there be a living soul ; even though it should be no more 
than is necessary in order to maintain a stationary equili- 
brium of bare existence as an active power. This neces- 
sary some direction is given with the power itself, at the 
same time and from the same source : it is a part of the 
ultimate fact of existence. As self-directing cause, this 
soul may give direction, that is, choose, within the given 
range of liberty, or it may not: if it do not so act and 
choose, then the direction of the power must be deter- 
mined by necessity ; and the soul will act in the direction 
taken by the choice, if any be so taken, or if not, then by 
mere necessity and blind chance ; or it will move by virtue 
of that more inward and original direction, which it has 
received and possesses with its primal existence : wherein 
may consist that guiding and controlling guardianship, or 
" secret will and grace " of the Greater Providence, which 
may sometimes determine the direction and the choice, 
when the self-directing specialty, as such, is unable to de- 
cide and determine for itself, being for the time in a cer- 
tain unresolvable quandary ; which guardianship, again, 
may be that which is sometimes called Luck, and some- 
times Destiny, being that same 

" destiny 
(That hath to instrument this lower world, 
And what is in 't " ): — Temp., Act III. He. 3. 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 533 

or, as Holinshed wrote, " the divine providence and appoint- 
ment of God, as St. Augustine saith ; for of other destiny, it 
is impossible to dream." * In like manner writes Hooker, 
about 1594; in the " Ecclesiastical Polity*' (which this 
author may have read), " that the natural generation and 
process of all things receiveth order of proceeding from the 
settled stability of the divine understanding. This ap- 
pointeth unto them their kinds of working ; the disposition 
whereof in the purity of God's own knowledge and will is 
rightly termed by the name of Providence. The same 
being referred unto the things themselves here disposed by 

it, was wont by the ancient to be called natural Destiny 

Nature therefore is nothing else but God's instrument." 2 
And Hamlet was not far from this same doctrine, when he 
said : — 

"Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, 
That would not let me sleep : methought, I lay 
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly, — 
And prais'd be rashness for it, — let us know, 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well 
When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us 
There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them how we will. 

Hor. That is most certain." 

Act V. Sc. 2. 

And so, this soul must act upon something out of the 
whole range and field of view, and either remain fixed in 
stupid equilibrium in one direction and upon the same 
thing, or it must shift upon the chosen things, or upon the 
destined things ; as when a child first opens its eyes to the 
light, then needing much guidance and guardianship ; and 
it will perceive, conceive, or act and do, something, or 
remain in stationary equilibrium ; and that, too, by the 
determination of voluntary choice, sheer necessity, blind 
chance, or the all-seeing Destiny, out of the whole possi- 

1 Chron. o/Eng.,1. 49. 

2 Booker's Works (Oxford, 1850,) I. 158. 



534 THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

bility of thinking and doing, even downward in the scale 
to the low grade of a mere instinctive consciousness of bare 
existence, and down to that narrow sphere of liberty, which 
is given, say, to the crinoid star-fish, fixed by his stem to 
the bottom of the ocean. Growth and development of 
body and increase of the power of the soul in the ascend- 
ing scale of types of organization, experience, discipline, 
practical skill, knowledge, wisdom, culture, insight, may 
follow, in their degrees, even up to the highest human 
wisdom and intelligence, wherein is the divine light of the 
soul. But the thought, which this special soul will have, 
must depend upon w T hat it acts against and perceives, or 
what it acts upon and creates within itself as conceptions 
of its own ; and its acts and doings will depend upon the 
thought and the direction taken by the power of the soul ; 
and all its knowledge, wisdom, and culture must be acquired. 
But the fundamental power to perceive, conceive, think, 
understand, judge, and know, and do, is given, in whatever 
swelling measure, and is not acquired ; though acquired 
skill, in many things, may be equivalent in practical effect 
to an increase of power. We have, in the " Cymbeline," 
some illustration of this kind of power and the degree of 
faculty and difference of quality, which Nature may give, 
with the birth of the individual. The two sons of the king 
are stolen from their cradle by Belarius, and brought up in 
a forest cave that was " a cell of ignorance " as hunters, 
knowing nothing of their origin. And when Imogen ap- 
pears at the cave in the disguise of an unknown boy, the 
brothers conceive a greater liking for him than they have 
for their supposed father, Belarius : — 

"Bel. [Aside.] noble strain ! 

worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base: 
Nature hath meal and bran; contempt and grace. 

1 am not their father; yet who thi-s should be, 
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. 

thou goddess, 



THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 535 

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, 
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, 
Their royal blood enchafd, as the rud'st wind, 
That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
And make him stoop to th' vale. 'T is wonder 
That an invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn'd, honor untaught, 
Civility not seen from other, valour 
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
As if it had been sow'd ! " — Act IV. Sc. 2. 

Thus is the soul constituted a special thinker and cre- 
ator by itself, under a special consciousness of its own ; and 
all its perceptions, conceptions, thought, ideas, knowledge, 
wisdom, culture, and insight, even to a knowledge of God 
and the universe and the order of his providence in it, must 
be exclusively its own, and arise out of its own special 
activity as such given power of thought, with whatever helps 
it may have. All the while, man must remember, that he 
lives in a world-prison as close as that in which the fallen 
King Richard meditated : — 

U K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
This prison, where I live, unto the world: 
And, for because the world is populous, 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it ; yet still I '11 hammer 't out. 
My brain 1 '11 prove the female to my soul; 
My soul, the father; and these two beget 
A generation of still breeding thoughts, 
And these same thoughts people this little world; 
In humours like the people of this world, 
For no thought is contented. The better sort, 
As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed 
With scruples, and do set the Word itself 
Against the Word : 

As thus, — ' Come little ones ' ; and then again, — 
' It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a needle's eye. 7 
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails 
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 



536 THE GREATER PROVIDENCE. 

Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; 
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride ! 
Thoughts tending to content natter themselves 
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, 
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame 
That many have, and others must sit there: 
And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
Bearing their own misfortune on the back 
Of such as have before endur'd the like. 

But whate'er I am, 

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, 

With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd 

With being nothing." —Rich. II., Act V. Sc. 5. 

"What is given, here, from the original fountain of all 
existence being a thinking power, all its thinking, its special 
consciousness, its identity and personality, its ideas, thoughts, 
knowledge, wisdom, and culture, and all its acts and doings, 
must necessarily be the effect, work, and result of the activ- 
ity of the power as original cause, under the whole special 
constitution of the soul as such. In like manner, the 
thought of God must be the work and effect of the activity 
of the divine power of thought in its whole unity and total- 
ity ; and his thought, knowledge, and purposes must exist 
under the divine consciousness alone, being as boundless as 
the universe and himself. His thought and action, being 
the actual universe, is presented as such effect and as re- 
ality directly to the fore-front view of this special thinker, 
seer, knower, and doer, whether he shall see much or little 
of it, whether he shall heed, or not, its laws, facts, and les- 
sons. But, to suppose the thought, ideas, knowledge, or 
purposes of the divine mind, could be directly made known, 
immediately imparted, to this special thinker from behind, 
underneath, and beyond the origin and source of the soul 
itself, as so constituted, by any conceivable sort of direct 
illumination, inspiration, or other kind of spiritual commu- 
nication, angelic, daemoniac, or super-telegraphic, would be 
in effect, either to imagine an inconceivable and absurd 
impossibility, or to suppose the soul to lose its specializa- 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 587 

tion and to fall back (as a wave falls to the level of the sea) 
into total identity with the " oversold," the Greater Provi- 
dence itself; a supposition, which would necessarily involve 
the logical and inevitable destruction and utter extinction 
of the special soul, as such ; and it would vanish into silence 
and oblivion. True, this might happen, or it might not, at 
the will of the Creator : if the ocean covered the globe, a 
wave might roll eternally on a given circle. Says Jean Paul 
Eichter, ;i I believe in a harmonious, an eternal ascent, but 
in no created culmination." 1 

§ 4. THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

Keturning to the question of the origin and nature of the 
Lesser Providence, it is to be considered that the soul, so 
constituted, must exist as an object and a fact of the divine 
consciousness, in like manner as the body. The power 
given and specialized in that particular way in the creation 
of the soul in the universal distribution of variety in the 
totality of the universe, under that consciousness, must 
depend, always, for the amount of power, on the divine 
power in its freedom as self-acting and self-directing cause 
in the whole providential order and plan of the divine 
thought; and so, the capability of any soul to think — to 
perceive, conceive, see, understand, judge, know, and do, 
must depend at bottom upon the amount of power so given ; 
and just so, from the lowest self-conscious animal up to the 
highest human intelligence. But nothing but the power 
and the specialization of it are given from that direction 
and on that side. Identity with the divine Existence ex- 
tends no further than to this fundamental essence of the 
soul as a finite power of thought. By virtue of that identity 
it is power in fact of the nature of the power of thought, in 
a state of activity, and that " sparkle of our creation light 
whereby men acknowledge a Deity burneth still within " 
and, as such, self-acting, self-directing cause so far. Dif- 
1 Kamjmner That, WerJce, XIII. 44. 



538 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

ference from the universal soul consists in the special con- 
stitution of the finite thinking sphere, so far as the special- 
ization goes ; and it embraces the whole specialization and 
no more, the limitations being, on one side, the physical 
organization and the outward world, and on the other, the 
given amount of power and the necessary laws of thought ; 
and between the two sides or halves of the sphere (as it 
were) is, in fact, not a hollow sphere, nor a blank-sheet 
sensorium, but only that invisible sheet-plane which is yet 
neither a substance, nor a space, but a mere region of pos- 
sibility of thinking, action, and sense-perception, and that 
same All Possibility in which God himself exists and creates 
the universe as His thought. In this unbounded possibility, 
in which lies the whole outer world and field of sensible 
experience, however undiscoverable its limits to us, as well 
as our own inner world of intellectual conception, there is 
no end to the creations of God and man : art and science 
have no bounds in this direction, being limited, in this 
respect, in man, or animal, only in the exhaustion of his 
power to act, to discover, and to create, but being, in God, 
as boundless as all the worlds of his creation, that are, or 
have been, and as inexhaustible as the eternal continuity 
of his existence and power to think and create. 

But it is in the special constitution and by virtue of the . 
specialization, only, that special thinking and a particular 
consciousness arise. The whole individual identity of the 
soul as a thinking personality depends upon the specialties, 
and it must cease if and when they cease. The soul so 
specialized, and bounded like a wave out of the whole ocean 
of soul, stands as a created object and a thought in the 
divine consciousness, in the same manner as a tree, or a 
microscopic cell of a tree ; but while it is such object in the 
divine mind, it is also a special subject for itself. But a 
tree, or a cell, is not, any more than is a body without a 
soul. The inner powers active in a cell are in motion under 
the divine consciousness alone, like all the powers of phys- 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 539 

ical nature, to which we give no higher name than mechan- 
ical, chemical, electrical, or, in general, physical forces. But 
when we come to a self-acting, self-directing, self-conscious 
power, a new name is necessary in all science and in all 
languages to designate this new fact and peculiar phe- 
nomenon ; and it is called a mind or a soul. As Plato says, 
and it cannot well be better said, "■ the beginning of motion 
is that which moves itself; and this can neither perish, nor 
be created, or all heaven and all creat'on must collapse 
and come to a standstill, and never again have any means 
whereby it might be moved and created " ; and again, he 
says, " every body which is moved from without is soulless, 
but that which is moved from within, of itself, possesses a 
soul, since this is the very nature of soul." 1 And so, says 
Bacon, " all spirits and souls of men came forth out of one 
divine limbus " : — 

" Porter. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like 
to dance these three days." — Hen. VIII., Act V. Sc. 3. 

It has become as difficult in science to draw the dividing 
line between the vegetable and animal kingdoms in respect 
of organization as it has been, in metaphysics, to mark the 
line of division between instinct and intelligence. There 
is a large class of animalcular cell-like bodies, with refer- 
ence to which naturalists of the highest distinction differ in 
opinion as to whether they belong to the animal or to the 
vegetable kingdom ; and of many species, even an Ehren- 
berg cannot determine with his microscope whether they 
are to be classed with animals, or with plants. Science is 
every day shifting some species from the one kingdom into 
the other. That they have an apparently voluntary motion, 
vibratory, or oscillatory, or revolving, is not sufficient to 
determine the question ; for in this they are all alike. And 
Lankester finally resolves the essential organic difference 
between the two kingdoms into a difference of merely 

1 Phcedrus, Works (Bohn), I. 321. 



540 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

chemical operations. Nevertheless, it is easy to distinguish 
a mere excito-motory instinctive motion, whether of a sensi- 
tive plant, or a sensitive animal, which is a mechanical or a 
physiological result of organization and applied forces, from 
an independent self-moving, self-directing cause and a self- 
conscious power. The most delicate water-creeper, the 
most infinitesimal rotifer, starts and stops, goes and comes, 
as he wills. A loom, be it ever so ingeniously constructed, 
presents only a certain mechanical practicability of cloth 
being woven : it has not, nor can it have, a self-moving 
power to weave cloth, as the spider has, to spin and weave 
his web. Applied power, as of water or steam, may put 
the instrumental machine in motion ; but even then, it 
weaves nothing, and only runs as an empty mill. The 
power that actually weaves cloth is only in the soul of the 
weaver. It is clear, that the fly-catching movement of the 
leaf of Dionaea, or the vibrating motion of the leaflet of 
Hydesarum, or the life-like motion of the sensitive Mimosa, 
is a mere result of organization and of the action of external 
or internal physical forces or both together, though a 
Schleiden cannot discover the " causes" with his micro- 
scope. 1 Indeed, all nature is, in one sense, alive : — 

" All things unto our flesh are kind 
In their descent and being; to our mind, 
In their ascent and cause " : — Herbert, 

or as another poet sings : — 

" L'anima di ogni bruto e delle piante 
Di complession potenziata tira 
Lo raggio e il moto delle luci sante." — Dante, Par c. vii. 

The eye of science has not yet discovered, in all cases, 
the exact stage in the scale of organized being, whether in 
the Kingdom, or in the Branch, or in the individual, where 
this kind of power first distinctly appears in a special form : 
the exact point of its first appearance in the flow of the 
physical stream may not be very essential. Nor is it at all 
1 Schleiden's Prin. of Botany, p. 554 (London, 1849). 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 541 

necessary that this fact should be taken as a criterion of 
distinction between an animal and a plant, or between one 
Branch, or Class, of the animal kingdom and another, but 
only, for that matter, between an excito-motory, or merely 
instinctive function and a self-conscious power or will, be- 
tween an animal that has, and one that has not, a self- 
moving soul, though it be so limited and diminutive in 
amount of power of thought and action in the particular 
instance as to be sometimes rather called an instinct than 
a soul. But it is necessary critically to distinguish between 
a true soul and that structural, physiological, excito-motory 
function of motion and even apparent self-activity which is 
properly called an instinct ; that is, between a movement 
which is due to the Greater Providence and one that is the 
work of the lesser providence as such. 

It was an opinion of Bacon, that even insects had some 
small amount of mind. "The insecta," he writes, " have 
voluntary motion, and therefore imagination ; and whereas 
some of the ancients have said that their motion is inde- 
terminate and their imagination indefinite, it is negligently 
observed ; for ants go right forward to their hills ; and 
bees do (admirably) know the way from a flowery heath 
two or three miles off to their hives. It may be, gnats and 
flies have their imagination more mutable and giddy, as 

small birds likewise have And though their spirit 

[soul] be diffused, yet there is a seat of their senses in the 
head." 1 

It is evident that all mental manifestation or exhibition 
of psychical power in man or animals is immediately con- 
nected with, and somehow dependent upon, the brain and 
nervous structures. At the base of the kingdom, Owen finds 
the Protozoic Acrita without a nervous system. With the 
Nematoneura, a mere thread-nerve appears. The next 
ascending type (Radiata) is characterized by an oesophageal 
nervous ring ; the next (Articidata) has two ganglia in 
i Nat. Hist., § 698. 



542 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

this ring, one above and one below the oesophagus ; and as 
we ascend in the scale, this upper ganglion becomes a true 
cerebrum, and the lower, a cerebellum ; that is, they will 
be found to correspond in ganglionic function. In the next 
type (Mollusca), we have three ganglia in the oesophageal 
ring, the third and additional one corresponding in nervous 
function with the medulla oblongata of the higher Branch 
(Vertehrata.) In the cuttle-fish (Sepia), the highest type 
of mollusc, these three ganglia are already well concen- 
trated into the head, and the cerebral ganglion has now 
become a well-defined cerebrum, and begins to be enclosed 
in a cartilaginous brain-case. In the first class of Verte- 
brates (Fishes), the second ganglion, too, has become a 
distinctly rounded nodule and a well marked cerebellum ; 
and the whole brain begins to be enclosed in a brain-case, 
cartilaginous, at first, and afterwards and higher in the 
scale, in a bony cranium. In these Fishes, the three ganglia, 
now become a distinct triplex brain, lie extended on a 
horizontal line, with the cerebrum in front, then the cere- 
bellum, and last, the medulla oblongata ; and the cerebellum 
is smallest in comparative size, the cerebrum larger, and 
the medulla oblongata, largest. In the Amphibia, the next 
higher type, the cerebellum has become larger than the 
cerebrum, the medulla oblongata being still the largest. In 
the next higher, the Reptiles, the cerebrum is still smallest, 
and the other two have become nearly equal in size. In 
the Birds, the next higher still, the cerebrum is largest, the 
other two remaining nearly equal in size. And in the 
Mammals, the cerebrum has become still larger in com- 
parison, and the cerebellum larger than the other. And 
with the relative and comparative size goes, in general, the 
increase in development and complication of the brain 
structure. And still further, with the Birds the cerebrum, 
moving backward in position, already begins to be placed 
partly above the other parts of the brain ; in the Mammals, 
it covers them still more ; in the Lemurs, the first family 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 643 

of the Ape tribe, it is placed nearly on top of the other 
parts, not yet quite covering them ; in the higher Apes, it 
fully covers them, and in Man, still more completely ; and 
this progress, on the whole, appears to exhibit an ever 
increasing development and perfection in respect of the 
extent, depth, complication, and distinctive prominence of 
the convolutions of the brain, and, as it would seem, with a 
corresponding degree of fineness and delicacy in the most 
intimate and inward organization and structure of the 
microscopic cell- tissues ; and the whole ascending order of 
development, arrangement, evolution, and new creation 
of artistic form, is thus completed in the erect stature and 
commanding presence of the lord of creation. Not that 
this progress consists in any mere development along one 
continuous line of linear descent ; for such is not wholly 
the fact ; but it takes place along several divergent and 
consecutively branching lines of linear descent, travelling 
over different surfaces in space in concurrent times, the 
concurrent spaces and times giving the distribution in time 
and space, and the true ascent is in respect of the ideal 
type alone, executed in material form in the individual, 
wherein it is seen how the whole is an ideal and real 
creation in time and space, or times and spaces, and a work 
of thought only. Herder, as well as Agassiz, was able to 
see this gradual approximation to the erect posture and the 
right angle of highest perfection in this direction, and that 
all further ascent must needs be exclusively in the intel- 
lectual and moral order, in power of soul, knowledge, dis- 
cipline, and culture. 

Throughout the scale, taking the nervous system and the 
brain in particular as basis of the comparison (with Owen), 
as is just, mind and the order of exhibition of psychical 
power being the most fundamental and important thing of 
all, the correspondence of the psychical powers and faculties 
with the organic structures, from the thread-nerve to the 
full human brain, is clearly manifest. In the thread-nerve, 



544 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

it is scarcely more than a physiological function ; in the 
nerve-ring, it is no more than a mere excito-motory instinc- 
tive function ; in the homogangliate duplex brain of the 
Articulates, a self-conscious, self-directing psychical power 
becomes more decidedly evident, with an increased amount 
and variety of sensational phenomena; the heterogangliate 
triplex brain, in the molluscous cuttle-fish, reaches a still 
higher degree of mental manifestation and power ; and in 
the Vertebrate Branch, with still greater concentration into 
the head and a more rapidly increasing development and 
evolution and new creation of brain structure, in compara- 
tive relation to the whole body and to the Class, or Branch, 
the whole psychical and sensational endowment advances 
by ascending steps and degrees, as the animal procession, 
in the order of creative divine providence, advances in 
geological time from out of the sea into the air, from sea 
and air to shore and land, to island, to continent ; and it 
becomes difficult (though it may yet be possible) to say, 
exactly when and where finite mind, or soul, first began ; 
for as we trace backward the order of the ascent in past 
time, just as when w r e attempt to trace it in the order of 
ascent in the scale of classification in present space, we find 
it dwindling by degrees from the highest intellectual power 
in man down to a mere instinct, to a simple function of 
motion, or even to merely physiological, mechanical, and 
general physical powers or forces. 

A fabulous opinion is still quite prevalent, that man only 
(and some would even leave out the lowest races of men 
as well as the higher apes) has a soul. It is based upon 
certain foggy, mystical, and obscure notions of the Biblical 
revelation, and means only that man alone has such a soul 
as can be saved and go to Heaven. Dr. Carpenter thinks 
there is no mind, or soul, below the Vertebrates. What 
his idea of mind or soul is, it would be difficult to determine 
or define. The phrenologists begin by assuming at once a 
whole psychology, wherein the human mind appears to be 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 545 

an agglomeration of some forty distinct faculties and powers, 
which they as readily proceed to locate within the skull 
from the outside. Carpenter works from the inside, but 
ends in rinding a " Sensorium " in the Sensory Ganglia 
(ihalami optici and corpora striata), wherein he seats what 
he calls "Sensation," "Ideation," and -" Consciousness " ; 
and he discovers " internal senses " in the commissural 
fibres, and locates the will and intelligence in the cortical 
substance of the cerebral hemispheres. This, too, is psy- 
chology with " a splitting power." 

The work of creation of an individual seems to proceed 
in a manner closely analogous to the mode of procedure in 
the creation of an animal kingdom. Descending by the 
light of science and the help of the microscope into the 
inner laboratory of God and Nature, wherein the work of 
creation never ceases, we arrive at length at the germinal 
vesicle with its central dot, or point of beginning of the 
creation of the new individual, being nearly that same 
mathematical point at which all creation, divine or human, 
always and everywhere begins. From this centre proceeds 
the formation and evolution of new cells as materials of 
construction. All sorts of powers are evidently at work 
here, mechanical, physiological, chemical, electrical, or other, 
and, underneath these, the creative thinking power itself, 
wielding all these other and secondary forces as means and 
instruments, under the laws and conditions thereof, and 
using the existing forms of substance and modes of force, 
solid, liquid, gaseous, or ethereal, as materials and instru- 
ments at hand ready made for the work ; and the artistic 
operation begins. — How do you know this ? Know it ! 
When we see a Homer's Iliad, do we not know it came 
from the soul of a Homer ? or a St. Paul's, a St. Peter's, a 
watch, or a world, do we not know it came from the mind 
of the architect and artist ? for, surely, of all things else we 
know anything about, nothing but mind works and creates 
in that way. 

35 



546 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

But this work does not proceed beyond a certain stage, 
it seems, according to the nearest scientific exploration, 
until the male seminal cells actually reach the outside of 
the initiative egg-cell, containing this germinal vesicle, and 
there deliquesce in contact (and M. Tulasne finds it to be 
just so, in the vegetable kingdom,) the fluid contents of 
these cells being taken into actual mixture with those of the 
egg-cell by imbibition or endosmose through the cell-walls. 
So much science has settled for us ; and this is called im- 
pregnation. Reinforced thus, the work of producing new 
cell-material starts anew and proceeds with renewed vigor. 
By a wonderful process of segmentation, it seems, a single 
cell, or a whole mass of cells, is made by halving to chop 
itself into a million portions, each containing a part of the 
contents of the parent cell, or mass of cells, and a share of 
the cell-producing power, which appears, in some measure, 
to continue throughout the life of the new animal, living in 
all the tissues, and not exhausted even in the hardest bone ; 
and so, the work of new creation continually runs along the 
interior basis of the individual structure, in like manner as 
it runs along the base of the entire animal pyramid and 
of the entire vegetable pyramid. Materials enough being 
ready, the Architect (so be the work be not detruded by 
the intractable and perverse nature of matter, and by fatal 
intervening impediments, and thereby deviated from the 
ordinary course,) distributes them into layers ; out of one 
he fashions an alimentary canal system and reproductive 
organs, and this we may call the first story of the building ; 
out of a second layer, he unfolds a whole vascular system 
of heart, lungs, arteries, veins, for a second story ; and for 
the third, out of the other layer, (which is first begun,) he 
moulds the skeleton (to serve as basement) and the muscles, 
tendons, tissues, nerves, and brain, for frame-work and 
inside finish of the whole fabric ; and the brain is pushed 
up, as it were, into the very top and dome of the living 
temple. But, by the time this embryonic process of evolu- 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 547 

tion and construction is completed, there begins to be 
exhibited from within the cerebrum, at whatever exact 
point in time and space, the psychological phenomenon of 
an actual thinking soul and a specialized manifestation of 
that same creative thinking power that built the embryo ; 
and thus a veritable incarnation of the Word is accom- 
plished : — 

" E tutti li altri modi erano scarsi 
Alia giustizia, se il figlio di dio 
Non fosse umiliato ad incarnarsi." 

Paradiso di Dante, c. vii. 

[And all the other modes were insufficient 
For justice, if the son of God did not 
Humiliate himself, and be incarnate.] 

Nutrition ascends from the first story into the second, 
and from thence into the third, and even down into the 
basement, and upward into the dome, and so keeps the 
animal alive. That the work proceeds, in each individual, 
through nearly all the ascending steps and grades of cell- 
development and embryological evolution as exhibited in 
the graduated ascent of the entire animal kingdom as a 
whole, or in the Vertebrate Branch, in particular, in respect 
of type, passing through fish, reptile, bird, mammal, monkey, 
up to man ; or, that the construction proceeds by stories, 
somewhat as in the entire kingdom of organic nature, with 
mineral structures in the first or basement story, with 
reproductive organs only in the second, as in Protozoa, with 
a nutritive system, only, in the third, as in some lower orders 
of animals and in the vegetable kingdom also, and then 
a vascular system superadded in a fourth story, and a 
nervous system in a fifth and last, with an internal skeleton 
and a true and perfect brain in the uppermost loft of all ; — 
all this is only to be taken as another evidence that the 
Divine Architect takes his own simplest and perhaps near- 
est way in all his works : all which not only seems to be 
true, according to exact science, but agrees remarkably well 
with that divine revelation, which the shade of the poet 



548 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

Statius made to Dante, when under the guidance of the 
soul of Virgil, he had reached the seventh hill in Purgatory, 
concluding in these words : — 

" Ma come di animal divegna fante, 

Non vedi tu ancor: questo e tal punto, 

Che pui savio di te gia fece errante, 
Si, che per sua dottrina fe disgiunto 

Dair anima il possibile intelletto, 

Per che da lui non vide organo assunto. 
Apri alia verita, che viene, il petto 

E sappi che, si tosto come al feto 

Lo articolar del cerebro e perfetto, 
Lo motor primo a lui si volge lieto 

Sovra tant' arte di natura, e spira 

Spirito novo di virtu repleto, 
Che cib, che trova attivo quivi, tira 

In sua sustanza, e fassi un' alma sola, 

Che vive, e sente, e se in se rigira." — Purg., c. xxv 

[But how an infant of the animal 

Doth come, thou see'st not yet: this is such point, 

That wiser men than thou have err'd therein, — 

They, who by their own doctrine have disjoined 

From soul the possible intelligence, 

Because they saw no organ by 't assum'd. 

Open thy heart to th' very truth which comes, 

And know thou, that as soon as in the fcetus 

Th' articulated brain is once perfected, 

Himself kindly to 't the First Mover turns, 

On so much art of Nature, and inspires 

A new spirit, with virtue all replete; 

So that you see, what 's found there active, shoots 

His essence in, and makes a soul distinct, 

Which lives, and feels, and rules itself in self.] 

The ascent from the bottom of the animal kingdom up 
to the top, as from the vesicular cell up to the full-grown 
man, is by a wide scale of steps and degrees. Until a nerve 
is reached, there can be no pretence that any special psy- 
chical power exists in any particular structure. In certain 
microscopic animalcules in which fine nervous threads, in- 
finitesimal ganglia, and some appearance of senses, seem to 
be discernible, if really so, as also in the Nematoneura and 
the Radiata, there is little or no ground of probability that 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 549 

there exists anything more than that kind of physiological 
movement and excito-motory and reflex nervous action in 
obedience to external, or internal, sensational impressions, 
which may properly be called instinct, and in which there is 
otherwise no distinct self-moving, self-conscious power. The 
ganglia of the oesophageal ring in Articulates and Molluscs, 
though in part subservient to certain senses and to the 
functions of sensation and motion, must be, for the most 
part, (if not entirely), like the other ganglia of these animals, 
confined to the same kind of excito-motory and reflex 
activity, which is to be considered as purely physiological in 
its nature, with the addition, perhaps, in the upper or cere- 
bral ganglion, of that very small degree of psychical power, 
which is necessary to give a faculty of choice in the direc- 
tion of the muscular movements and the motions of the 
animal, in obedience to actually present sensations, deter- 
mining the animal to one direction, or to one act, rather 
than another, but not amounting to such a degree of this 
power as to be capable of conceiving ideas, ideal images, 
conceptions of imagination, or dreams ; much less, of car- 
rying on any continued, or connected, process of rational 
thinking. Indeed, it is conceivable, if not probable, or 
even very certain, that the highest power of soul in man, 
under special circumstances, as when in sound sleep, or as 
when stunned by a blow on the head, or under the suffoca- 
tion of carbonic acid gas, or the influence of chloroform, or 
in any comatose state of the brain, or in disease when near 
the point of unconscious insensibility, or death, or when as 
yet unborn, may sink, or only rise, for the time being, to a 
like diminutive degree of psychical power, and yet be a dis- 
tinct living soul. It must be admitted that insects and 
molluscs, say, for instance, the bee, with his skilful in- 
stincts and industrial economy in the composite organic 
structure of the swarm, or the cuttle-fish, with his larger 
cerebral ganglion, his great powers of motion, and his cun- 
ning arts of self-protection, possess the power and faculty 



550 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

of voluntary motion, at least ; but this, perhaps, need not 
argue more of psychical power, or self-directing will, than a 
simple power of choice between present conflicting sensa- 
tions, in conformity also with the mechanical, physiological, 
and other physical conditions, which result from their organ- 
ization and the state of existence in which they live. If 
the act of the bee in returning straight to his hive when 
laden with honey from the flowery mead, wherein he seems 
to have something of the faculty of the wild Indian in the 
deep woods, if the act of the cuttle-fish in darkening the 
waters with his ink w T hen danger threatens, necessarily im- 
plies some degree of memory as well as an act of will, 
or choice, we may as easily allow the memory as the 
choice, and also such small degree of psychical power, or 
soul, as is therein necessarily implied ; and in this memory, 
there is also necessarily implied some small faculty of im- 
agination, that is, a capability of framing ideal conceptions 
in a thinking soul, however limited in amount and degree 
of power. In general, nerves and ganglia are plainly 
subservient to the physiological processes of the animal 
economy merely. The three great ganglia, which gradu- 
ally become concentrated into the head, are as clearly 
subservient, in the first instance, and excepting only the 
cerebral, first and last, to those functions of sensation and 
muscular motion, for which an excito-motory and reflex 
activity of a merely physiological nature may be considered 
as sufficient. But this cerebral ganglion, even in these 
Articulates and Molluscs, as later among the Vertebrates, 
would seem to be the seat, also, of some small degree of 
that higher kind of power, which can only be designated as 
psychical power, or soul that thinks and moves itself. 

As we ascend the scale in the Vertebrate Branch, we 
find an increased development of these same ganglia, cor- 
responding with the increased faculties of sensation and the 
increased power and complexity of muscular motion ; and 
with the enlargement of the cerebral sensory ganglia into 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 551 

expanded cerebral hemispheres, with an ever increasing 
proportion in size, convolution, and fineness of texture 
therein as the scale mounts, we find this same psychical 
power exhibited, everywhere and throughout, in a very 
nearly, if not an exactly, corresponding proportion ; so that 
no one can deny, for instance, that the psychical powers of 
the higher apes, as in the Orang, Chimpanzee, and Gorilla, 
approach as much more nearly to those of man, on the 
whole, than do those of the other inferior orders of ani- 
mals, as the structure and development of their cerebral 
hemispheres, and indeed all the rest of their organization 
and structure, approximate more nearly than the other to 
the human type. Nor does the scale stop here : it still 
continues to ascend, only with a proportionately less degree 
of difference in the advance upward through the ascending 
races or species of men. The result of all ethnological 
study goes to establish this fact ; and though there be a 
wide gulf between the highest living species of ape, and the 
lowest existing species of man, it is nevertheless true, that 
some human tribes, lowest in the living scale, and only not 
yet quite extinct, (and many species, or distinct tribes, have 
doubtless long since become extinct in the lapse of im- 
mense geological ages since the Pliocene man lived,) for 
instance, the Papuas of the East Indian Islands and Aus- 
tralia, are found to be utterly incapable of abstract notions, 
that is, general rational ideas or conceptions, or any kind 
of abstruse reasoning. It is just so with the American In- 
dian and other inferior races, the African Negro inclusive, in 
greater or less degree only. Thoreau found it to be so with 
the civilized Indians of the Maine woods ; and he was a 
good observer of such facts. The Gorilla, or Chimpanzee, 
may have sensation, voluntary motion, will, and understand- 
ing enough to come down from his tree and warm himself 
by a deserted camp-fire, but not reason, foresight, or 
rational thinking power enough to put on more wood when 
the fire burns down, as the naturalists say ; and yet he 



552 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

may have a very considerable amount of self-conscious, self- 
directing power or will, w r ith memory and imagination ; — - 
some not inconsiderable degree of thinking soul. The wild 
naked Papuas, or the Hottentots, four feet and a half in 
height, may have reason enough to do acts of this kind, but 
scarcely more ; for they have never had understanding, 
invention, power of thought, or skill and sense enough, in 
the course of long ages, to raise themselves above the con- 
dition of wild men of the woods, nor sufficient intelligence 
or rational thinking power, to be able to comprehend, by 
the help of any teaching, the general ideas, the higher 
reasonings, and more comprehensive conceptions, nor the 
arts and sciences, of the superior races of men. The 
lower races are scarcely more than grown up children : 
they represent the several stages of the childhood of the 
human race. The American Indian, though somew r hat 
more capable, is still but little better than a natural-born 
Caliban, — 

" A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 
And as with age his body uglier grows, 
So his mind cankers." — Temp., Act J V. Sc. 1. 

With them, all progress is, and must be, slow and 
gradual, and for the most part in their own best way. John 
Elliot's converted Naticks are extinct, and their agglutinate, 
polysynthetic Bible is a dead tongue. In the course of 
unnumbered geological aeons, the white type is reached. 
In the lapse of untold centuries, the Turanian grows into a 
Chinese straight-jacket ; the Gangetic Malay, into a Hindu , 
the Nilotic African, into an Egyptian ; the American In- 
dian, into an Aztec; or Inca- Peruvian ; the Caucasian, into 
a Bactrian, Assyrian, Chaldaean, Hebrew, Grecian, Roman, 
European. Within the gently stretching envelope, each 
lives, grows, expands, improves, and is transmuted. Take 
either suddenly out of it, and he suffers, or perishes, as 
when you wrench a turtle out of his shell. Boat-heads, 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 553 

flat-heads, and pigmy dwarfs, become fossil, before the ad- 
vance of more gigantic long-heads and high-heads. The 
westward-flowing white streams of the temperate zones 
overwhelm the inferior indigenes, or sweep them aside into 
bogs and mountain fastnesses, or strand them upon remote, 
inhospitable shores. Guanches, Tasmanians, Tahitians, In- 
dians, Negroes, vanish into utter darkness, before the burn- 
ing face of European civilization ; or the civilization, flow- 
ing backward upon the tropical zones, is itself extinguished 
in the dark multitude, as a light goes out in carbonic acid. 

The difference is not so much a difference in kind, or in 
essence, as a difference of degree; but as the pyschical 
power increases in degree, as we mount in the scale, there 
is exhibited that ever-enlarging scope, and that conse- 
quently increasing number and variety of capabilities and 
faculties which, m the new and varied applications and 
uses that arise out of and go along with this increase in 
amount of power, present themselves to a superficial appre- 
hension as new, additional, and distinct mental powers or 
faculties ; and hence the illusion of the phrenologists, the 
mental physiologists, and all those materialistic philoso- 
phers, who try to imagine that all the phenomena of mind 
are a mere result of the physical organization and a direct 
effect produced by the organic machine ; that memory con- 
sists merely in an accumulated volume and mass of sensa- 
tional impressions stamped and recorded, one set above 
another (with Sir Benjamin Brodie), upon the gossamer 
tissues of the cortical layers of the brain ; and that all 
thought is a product of nervous electricity, or some kind of 
arterial brain-flow and consumption of neurine, as light 
comes of the burning of a candle, or time-keeping from 
the running of a clock. 

The necessary laws of thought, constituting the imper- 
sonal reason (as defined by Cousin), exist absolutely ; 
that is, as necessary fact, and are common to all thinking 
souls, from insect to man, and from man to his Maker. 



554 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

Hence, the only difference there can be, in respect of pure 
reason, between one created soul and another, whatever 
the place of either in the scale of existence, is a 'difference 
in the extent and measure in which each finite soul may be 
able to share, partake, use, employ, and exercise these 
laws and this reason in perceiving, conceiving, thinking, 
and knowing ; for these operations of the mind, as far as 
they go, must necessarily be, and always are, carried on in 
exact accordance with these laws, whether the special 
thinker himself be aware of it or not. This measure may be 
large or small in the given instance, and the use made of 
it may be in some degree more or less, much or little, 
good or bad, logical or illogical, wise or unwise. The soul 
in itself is active choosing cause and thinking power, the 
"sparkle of our creation light," the "lamp of God" 
shining within us, and the light of the understanding 
whereby the mind intellectually and spiritually sees, knows, 
perceives, conceives, understands, comprehends, and is 
self-conscious, and the pow r er whereby it acts, wills, and 
creates ; and its existence as such is an ultimate and final 
fact. Any man may deny the fact, not see it, and dis- 
believe it ; yet the fact still exists and remains so. Such 
being the nature of it, it is plain that neither soul, nor 
thinking, can be the result or effect of the physical organi- 
zation, nor a simple product of the working of the physio- 
logical machine, though a finite soul may never exist at all 
without an organic body ; that brain and mind, speaking of 
the finite creature, do not stand in the relation to one 
another of cause and effect ; that mind and brain, speaking 
of the divine mind, and the created brain, do stand in the 
relation to one another of cause and effect ; but that the 
true relation of the finite mind, or soul, to the brain and 
general structure of the body, is one of correspondence and 
adaptation only, as Swedenborg said. And the specializa- 
tion of the soul is made to correspond with the special 
organic body : the larger and better the receiving basin, 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 555 

the more powerful will be the swell of ocean that streams 
into it ; and the more soul, the nearer to God. 

As a special subject, the activity of any given soul, and 
its power as thinking cause, is as primary, original, funda- 
mental, and immortal, as the Divine Soul itself, the totality 
of all power and cause : it is only in so far as it is a speci- 
alty, that a finite soul is secondary and a creation. But the 
thought and consciousness of God must necessarily be in 
the unity and totality of his being, as such, wherein is the 
Divine Personality. The personality of the special thinker, 
in like manner, must be only in the unity and totality of the 
special soul, as such. Consciousness is the fact of being 
and knowing ; and it can by no possibility be more extensive 
than the thinking personality. And the finite soul being 
thus bounded off, as it were, into a separate and distinct 
sphere of consciousness of its own, there can be no possibil- 
ity of its being or becoming directly conscious, that is, know- 
ing, of the thought, knowledge, purposes, or foreordination 
of God, nor any conceivable possibility of an intermediate 
flow of thoughts, ideas, conceptions, or revelations, out of 
the one mind into the other, whether that of a Moses, an 
Isaiah, a Jesus, or a Pope. A man may become conscious, 
indirectly, of some part of the divine thought and provi- 
dence, by discovering and seeing it in the fore-front view of 
the universe, an infinite phantasmagoria, as it were, capable 
of being reflected in the mirror of his mind's eye, which is 
always able to find therein as much revelation as it can dis- 
cover, see, or in any way receive and comprehend, or have 
need to know ; but never any more. There can be no 
back-door passage from the one consciousness into the 
other, and it is of no use to look in the back of the mirror : 
it can be conceived only in the heated fancies of uncritical 
thinkers and mystical dreamers. The open passages are 
all in front : we stand face to face with our God. It should 
be left to spiritual-rapping doctors only, to believe that 
knowledge, foreknowledge, revelation, divination, prophe- 



556 THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 

cies, auguries, gifts of healing, helps, and diversities of 
tongues, are, or can be, poured into the human soul, as it 
were, through an imaginary hole in the back of the head. 

Since the invention of the electric telegraph, certain 
visionary dreamers, possessing souls only half awake, have 
abandoned the theory of influxions, and imagined that dis- 
embodied souls or spirits could send communications from 
the spirit-world by some sort of telegraphic rapping. That 
a departed soul may live in a spiritual form may be very 
possible, if not highly probable, or indeed quite certain. 
Some persons have believed that they walked the upper 
air, like the spectral ghosts that poets, superstitious persons, 
and diseased minds have created in their wandering fan- 
cies ; but since it has become scientifically demonstrable, 
that no such vision of a ghost could possibly be visible to 
any human eye, telegraphic rappings from imaginary in- 
visible spirits have been substituted in the place of the vis- 
ible spectres. As a living power of thought, a soul can 
act, directly, in its own inner sphere of self only ; and in- 
directly, upon the world external to itself and upon human 
senses, only by means of organic physical instruments, and 
through the agency of material means. A human soul, as 
we see, has power to move an arm of flesh and bone, and 
so to produce great effects on solid bodies. But here, 
we have the necessary gradation of organized material 
structures and instruments, rising by degrees of solidity 
and strength from the most ethereal invisible particles, mi- 
croscopic cells, finest conceivable fibres and gossamer tis- 
sues of the brain, through the infinite ascending complica- 
tion of ganglionic, nervous, vascular, muscular, and bony 
structures up to that completed complex and substantial 
instrument, the arm, with its terminal, ingeniously con- 
structed hand, capable of great power. And so, too. we 
may imagine a spirit soul to have a spiritual body, with a 
corresponding and similar structure of brain, nerve, muscle, 
bone, arm and hand, made of forms of spiritual substance 



THE LESSER PROVIDENCE. 557 

(as indeed all substance is spiritual) ; but whatever power 
or force such an organization of body might be able to ex- 
ercise upon other spiritual bodies of like nature and con- 
stitution, it is clear that if it be so thin and ethereal as to 
be invisible to the microscope, and wholly imperceptible to 
the most delicate scientific tests of the presence of matter 
or force, it would be utterly absurd to imagine it could, by 
any conceivable possibility, so rap a table at the will of a 
spirit soul as to produce a vibration in solid wood, or in so 
dense a fluid as the air, which is the only medium of sound 
to the ear, any more than could the imaginary hand of an 
impossibly visible ghost. Both our eyes and our ears are 
forever closed to any such agency, and our souls and our 
senses alike are happily inaccessible to all such communi- 
cations : so says Hamlet : — 

" And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
Being a thing immortal as itself? " 

Honest ghosts have scarcely been suspected of such im- 
possibilities : even the ghost of Hamlet's father, that " per- 
turbed spirit," old truepenny, " the fellow i' the cellar- 
age," that was " hie et ubique" and could " work i' the 
earth " like a mole, knew better than to undertake to rap 
anything. He only ventured to speak aloud ; and even 
that voice was never heard by mortal ear until uttered by 
some living medium under the stage. Even when poeti- 
cally visible, face to face with Hamlet, he cut a long story 
short with this sensible speech : — 

11 But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
"Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine : 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood." — Act I. Sc. 5. 

And all spiritual rappers will know better, when they 



558 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

have learned more, than to undertake any such perform- 
ance : that work belongs only to poets. In the mean time, 
all may rest assured, that in literal truth this " eternal 
blazon " must not be, and, in the order of Divine Provi- 
dence in the known world, cannot be, to "ears of flesh and 
blood." The universe is neither made nor governed so, nor 
are men to be instructed here in that way ; and the sooner 
all rappers find this out, the better it may be for them, both 
here and hereafter. There should be established for their 
use " houses of deceits of the senses, all manner of feats of 
juggling, false apparitions, impostures, and illusions, and 
their fallacies ; " and they should beware of the fate and 
the curse of Macbeth. 

§ 5. REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

That sprightly antithesis of Pope, straining a truth to 
point his wit, — 

" The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind," 

like much other wit and many old saws, contains more point 
than truth ; and as is usual, when vulgar satire flings its 
envenomed shafts at what is nobler than itself, the slander 
is apt to stick better than the truth. Bacon was not the 
meanest of mankind. He was not mean at all, unless by 
some mean standard of meanness, but one of the loftiest 
and noblest of his time, as well as one of the wisest and 
brightest of all time. That he partook in some measure of 
the abuses of the time, and shared the faults of good men 
in all times, need not be denied. He was not a martyr, nor 
a hero, in any ordinary sense ; but in a very extraordinary 
sense, he might be found to have been both. He did not 
attempt impracticabilities, nor absurd impossibilities ; but 
he was certainly one of those " clearest burning lamps," * 
and 

" clearest gods, who make them honors 
Of men's impossibilities " ; 

1 Bacon. 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 559 

"which, nevertheless,'' says he, "it seemeth they propound 
rather as impossibilities and wishes than as things within 
the compass of human comprehension." 1 

Without stopping, now, to extenuate his faults, such as 
they were (and they have been enormously magnified), it 
may be remembered here, that he was wiser than to break 
his own head against the dead stone walls and brazen idols 
of the age in which he lived. He knew it was better to set 
the slow hand of all-conquering Time at work upon them, 
and he did more than any other of his time toward con- 
triving the plans, indicating the ways, inventing the means, 
and constructing the ideal engines and instruments for 
their demolition. He made a virtue of necessity, perhaps, 
and adapted himself as well as he could to the medium in 
which his life was cast ; and he made use of the materials 
and instruments that were at hand for such uses as they 
were fit for, and for objects, ends, and aims, far higher, 
nobler, and better, than was dreamed of by many in his 
own time, or even by a large portion of posterity down to 
this day. Comparatively speaking, he lived in an age of 
darkness and despotism, not in an age of light and liberty. 
His " Genius " could not have " the air of freedom " ; and 
this he well knew. Hamlet gives sage advice : — 

" Not this, by no means, — that I bid you do : . . . 



No, in despite of sense, and secrecy, 

Unpeg the basket on the house's top, 

Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape, 

To try conclusions in the basket creep, 

And break your own neck down." — Act III. Sc. 4. 

Sovereignty, in that age, resided in the king, not in the 
people, and if he may be judged by his writings, it was 
certainly not Bacon's fault, if the reigning sovereign were 
not really as wise as Solomon and a true vicegerent of the 
Divine Majesty ; for he taught that kings " be live gods on 
earth," as the play also teaches : — 

1 Valerius Terminus. 



560 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

u Kings are earth's gods ; in vice their law 's their will, 
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill? " 

Per., Act L Sc. L 

And again thus, in the " Richard II. " : — 

"Boling. With all my heart 

I pardon him. 
Bach. A god on Earth thou art." — Act V. Sc. 3. 

And again in the " Rape of Lucrece " : — 

" Thou seemest not what thou art, a god, a king, 
For kings like gods should govern everything." 

He had to take " the age and body of the time, his form 
and pressure," for what it was, as he found it, believing, 
perhaps, with the play, again, that 

" All places that the eye of heaven visits 
Are to the wise man ports and happy havens. 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
There is no virtue like necessity." — Rich. II., Act I. Sc. 3. 

In Euripides, the same doctrine stands ftius : — 

" Wise men have said, (it is no speech of mine,) 
There 's nothing stronger, or more terrible 
Than dire necessity." — Hehne, 512-14. 

Probably, Bacon alluded to this very passage, when he said, 
"It was said among the ancients, ' Necessitatem ex omnibus 
rebus esse fortissi mum'' " 1 (Necessity is the strongest of all 
things). And it is repeated in this same play, thus : — 

il K. Rich. I am sworn brother, sweet, 

To grim necessity; and he and I 
Will keep a league till death." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

And again, the same idea appears in the second part of the 

" Henry IV.," thus : — 

"K. Hen. Are these things, then, necessities ? 
Then let us meet them like necessities." — Act III. Sc. 1. 

And there may be some truth in the sonnet, as applied to 
himself: — 

" 'T is better to be vile, than vile esteem' d, 
When not to be receives reproach of being, 

i De Aug. Sclent., Lib. VIII. 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 561 

And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd, 

Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. 

For why should others' false adulterate eyes 

Give salutation to my sportive blood? 

Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, 

Which in their wills count bad what I think good? 

No, I am that I am, and they that level 

At my abuses reckon up their own : 

I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; 

By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shewn, 

Unless this general evil they maintain, 

All men are bad, and in their badness reign."' — Son. cxxi. 

And this, again, would seem to echo almost the very words 
of Helene in Euripides, which, being interpreted, run 
nearly thus : — 

M Being no way unjust, I am disgrac'd, 
And this, to whomsoever comes reproach 
Of evil deeds, belonging not to him, 
Is worse than all the vileness of the truth." — Ilelene, 270-3.. 

Even victorious Caesar, in the play, could speak in praise 
of the fallen Antony, admire his greatness, and lament his 
fate ; and Antony could think the Egyptian Cleopatra 
" thrice nobler " than himself, when, forgetting all her 
human frailties, he exclaimed, as he imitated her example, 
and fell upon his own sword, — 

" My queen and Eros 
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
A nobleness in record.'' — Ant. and Clto., Act IV. Sc. 12. 

As Bacon says, " at best, nobleness is never lost, but re- 
warded in itself." x And reading the " Antony and Cleo- 
patra " from the high philosophic point of view of Plato's 
Republic, some touch of this same nobleness may be dis- 
covered in it : — 

" Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt, and the wide arch 
Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space. 
Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike 
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life 
Is to do thus ; when such a mutual pair, 

i Letter, 1623. 



562 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

And such a twain can do 't, in which I bind 
On pain of punishment, the world to wit 
"We stand up peerless. 

Clto. Excellent falsehood ! 

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? " — Act 1. Sc. 1. 

Nor would Cleopatra stay in this world, Antony being in 
the other : — 

" Cleo. Antony ! Nay, I will take thee too. — 

[Applying another asp. 
What should I stay — [Dies. 

Char. In this wide world? — So fare thee well. * 
Now, boast thee, death ! in thy possession lies 
A lass unparallerd." — Act V. Sc.2. 

This author's breadth of view, his greatness of soul, his 
lofty standards of moral judgment, and his deep insight 
into the confusions of men and things, whereby the most 
precious jewels are discovered where least looked for, even 
in the toad's head, and purified and redeemed from the 
rubbish of affairs, life, and opinion, which had long con- 
cealed them from the sight of most men, this brave instruc- 
tion, this nobleness in record, and these unparalleled mor- 
tals, all together, reveal to our apprehension a genius and 
a soul which readily suggests but few living parallels. For 
style and diction, depth and breadth, and all-sided clearness 
of vision, the " Cymbeline" and the "Troilus and Cressida" 
may compare with the best of the moderns. The open 
secret is therein laid more open ; but the world will not see 
it, howsoever open : they will rather stay under the clouds, 
and mope still in theological fog, believing only — 

'* The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, 
Corrupters of my faith ! You shall no more 
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools 
Believe false teachers, though those that are betray'd, 
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case of woe." — Act III. Sc. 4. 

1 Mr. White reads "in this wild world," after the Folio of 1623, which 
reads " wilde world" ; a misprint, as I believe, for wide world, the true 
reading. See White's Shakes., XII. 128; Notes, 147. 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 563 

Bacon would have the true interpreter of riature pry more 
deeply into this open secret, and write a new Scripture : — 
" We desire," he says, " this primary history to be con- 
scientiously collected, and as if upon solemn oath of its 
verity in every particular ; since it is the volume of God's 
works, and (so far as a similitude between the majesty of 
divine things and the lowness of the terrene, may be al- 
lowed), as it were another Scripture " ; 1 for, as he con- 
tinues again, " this writing of our Sylva Sylvaram is, to 
speak properly, not a natural history, but a high kind of 
natural magic " ; and according to Dr. Rawley, it was " a 
usual speech of his lordship," that it was to be " the world 
as God made it " ; that is, not a work of the imaginations 
of men, but the work of the divine mind ; and such being 
the nature of it, we need not wonder that he should call it 
a high kind of natural magic and an actual Holy Scripture. 
So he says that Homer " was made a kind of Scripture by 
the latter schools of the Grecians " ; and his fables " seemed 
to be like a thin rarefied air, which, from the traditions of 
more ancient nations, fell into the flutes of the Grecians " ; 
as the celestial spirits, in " The Tempest," " melted into air, 
into thin air." 

According to Goethe, out of the three reverences, rev- 
erence for what is above us, reverence for what is around 
us, and reverence for what is under us, springs the highest 
reverence, the reverence for one's self and that true re- 
ligion, wherein a man is "justified in reckoning himself 
the best that God and Nature have produced," as in the 
play : — 

" though mean and mighty, rotting 
Together, have one dust, yet reverence 
(That angel of the world) doth make distinction 
Of place 'tween high and low." — Cymb., Act IV. Sc. 2. 
And again : — 

" The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest: so his successor 
Was like to be the best."— Winter's Tale, Act V. Sc. 1. 

1 Parasceve, Works (Boston), II. 57. 



564 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

And again, thus : — 

" Those that I reverence, those I fear, — the wise : 
At fools I laugh, not fear them." — Cymb., Act IV* Sc. 2. 

So, we may remember, Bacon says, that " the reverence of 
a man's self is, next religion, the chiefest bridle of all 
vices," and that, •' whosoever is unchaste cannot reverence 
himself" ; and we find the same sentiment nearly repeated 
in idea (though not in words), and enforced with all the 
powers of rhetoric, and in a splendid amplitude of meta- 
phorical expression, all drawn from the common language 
of the Christian religion, in this fine passage from the 
* Troilus and Cressida : " — 

" Tro. This she? no: this is Diomed's Cressida. 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she: 
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 
If there be rule in unity itself, 
This is not she. O madness of discourse. 
That cause sets up with and against itself! 
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt. This is, and is not, Cressid! 
W T ithin my soul there doth conduce a fight 
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
Divides more wider than the sky and earth; 
And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
As Ariachne's broken woof, to enter. 
Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates; 
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of Heaven : 
Instance, instance ! strong as Heaven itself; 
The bonds of Heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd; 
And with another knot, five-finger tied, 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques 
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed." 

Tro. and Cr., Act V. Sc. 2. 

Bacon comprehended "the nature of this great city of 
the world," as he expresses it. So Carlyle says of Shake- 
speare, that " in his mind the world is a whole ; he figures 
it as Providence governs it ; a world of earnest- 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 565 

ness and sport, of solemn cliff and gay plain n ; or as 
Bacon also says, again, comparing poetry with history as 
a mode of representing acts, or events, " poesy feigns them 
more just in retribution and more according to revealed 
providence." And what Schlegel said of Shakespeare may 
be said as well, — nay, rather better, — of Bacon himself, 
that he had " deeply reflected on character and passion, on 
the progress of events and human destinies, on the human 
constitution, on all the things and relations of the world " ; 
and again, that " the world of spirits and nature have laid 
all their treasures at his feet ; in strength a demi-god, in 
profundity of view a prophet, in all-seeing wisdom a pro- 
tecting spirit of the higher order, he lowers himself to mor- 
tals as if unconscious of his superiority, and is as open and 
unassuming as a child." * But of most men, who will not, 
or who cannot, " so by degrees learn to read in the vol- 
umes " of God's universe, 

" I 1 the world's volume 
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; 
In a great pool, a swan's nest " ; — Cymb., Act III. Sc. 4. 

for they will continue to believe with the fool, Thersites, 
that it is, in God and Nature as in Cressida, — 
"A juggling trick, — to be secretly open." — Tro. and Cr., Act V. Sc. 4. 

They will 

" rather think this not Cressid " ; 

and so thinking, they will proceed to create for themselves 
an ideal Cressid, after such pattern as they have ; for 
" they have ever left the oracles of God's works, and 
adored the deceiving and deformed imagery, which the un- 
equal mirrours of their own minds have represented unto 
them." But having so created the human ideal idol, they 
must find, sooner or later, that 

" this is, and is not, Cressid." 
And hence, losing sight of all just reverences, the highest 

i Lectures on Dram. Lit, by A. W. Schlegel, p. 290-298 (Philad., 1833). 



566 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

wisdom, the true religion, and all just conception of the due 
line of order and authentic place of things in this universe, 
there reigns in the minds of men, for the most part, a con- 
fusion of ideas and opinions, and a moral disorder, which is 
not merely a 

" musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction," 

but an appalling chaos, equal to that of Agamemnon's 
Grecian camp : — 

" Degree being vizarded, 
Th' unworthiest shews as fairly in the mask. 
The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre, 
Observe degree, priority, and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Office, and custom, in all line of order: 
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol 
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
Amidst the other; whose med'cinable eye 
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
And posts, like the commandment of a king, 
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets, 
In evil mixture, to disorder wander, 
What plagues, and what portents! what mutiny! 
What raging of the sea, shaking of the earth, 
Commotion in the winds, frights, changes, horrors, 
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
The unity and married calm of states 
Quite from their fixture ! 0, when degree is shak'd, 
Which is the ladder to all high designs, 
The enterprise is sick. How could communities, 
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 
The primogenity and due of birth, 
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
Take but degree away, untune that string, 
And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets 
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters 
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 
And make a sop of all this solid globe: 
Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
And the rude son should strike his father dead: 
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong 
(Between whose endless jar justice resides) 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 567 

Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 

Then every thing includes itself in power, 

Power into will, will into appetite ; 

And appetite, a universal wolf, 

Must make perforce an universal prey, 

And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnorv, 

This chaos, when degree is suffocate, 

Follows the choking." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

So says Bacon, "It is owing to justice that man is a god 

to man, and not a wolf"; 1 and "when the judgment-seat 

takes the part of injustice, there succeeds a state of general 

robbery, and men turn wolves to each other, according to 

the adage " ; 2 and — 

" Thieves for their robbery have authority, 
When judges steal themselves." — Meas.for Meas., Act 11. Sc. 2. 

And again, he says, " If to be just be not to do that to 
another which you would not have another do to you, then 
is mercy justice " : — 

" And earthly power doth then shew likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice." — Mer. of Ven., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Indeed, the careful reader, w T ho will diligently' compare the 
"Antitheses of Justice," a mere example of a collection of 
common places under the head of " Promptuary or Pre- 
paratory Store," thrown into that very notable Book VII. 
of the De Augmentis, on the Examplar of Good, the Colors 
of Good and Evil, moral knowledge concerning the Georgics 
of the mind, and the " Antitheses of Things," with the 
first scene of the fourth act of the " Merchant of Venice," 
can scarcely fail to see, that the fine exposition of the 
quality of mercy and justice, there given, is but an amplifi- 
cation in verse of these very antitheses ; and by comparing 
also the Aphorisms on " Universal Justice or the Fountains 
of Equity " in civil society, in the VUIth Book, 3 with the 
" Measure for Measure," he will discover therein a still 
further illustration of these same doctrines of justice and the 

1 Trans, of the De Aug., Works (Boston). IX. 166. 

2 Trans, of the De Aug. 259; Erasmus' Adagia, I. 70. 
1 8 Works (Boston), IX. 311. 



568 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

"three fountains of Injustice," namely, mere force, a ma- 
licious ensnarement under color of law, and hardness of 
the law itself, until Escalus exclaims : — 

" Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Iniquity? " — Act II. Sc. 1. 

The antitheses of justice and injustice, chastity and lewd- 
ness, are therein exhibited as in a model, after his own 
usual manner, by contrast of opposites, whereby the limits, 
or antinomies, of the passions and moral laws, are more 
easily represented, more distinctly defined, and better illus- 
trated by example. The same " commission " for the re- 
form of obsolete laws appears in both. " For," says the 
Aphorism, " since an express statute is not regularly abol- 
ished by disuse, it comes to pass that through this contempt 
of obsolete laws the authority of the rest is somewhat im- 
paired. And from this ensues a torment like that of 
Mezentius, whereby the living laws are stifled in the em- 
braces of the dead." ..." For though it has been well said, 
i that no one should be wiser than the laws,' yet this must 
be understood of waking and not of sleeping laws." l And 
so says the Duke (disguised as the Friar) in the play : — 

" My business in this State 
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble- 
Till it o'errun the stew: laws for all faults, 
But faults so countenanc'd that the strong statutes 
Stand, like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
As much in mock as mark." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

And again : — 

" Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
(The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) 
Which for these fourteen years ice have let sleep, 
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, 
Having bound up the threat' ning twigs of birch 
" Only to stick it in their children's sight 
For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd; so our decrees, 
Dead to infliction,, to themselves are dead; 

i Works (Boston), IX. 328. 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 569 

And liberty plucks justice by the nose, 

The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 

Goes all decorum. 1 ' . . . . — Act I. Sc. 4. 

" The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept" 

Act II. Sc. 2. 

The treatise of Universal Justice begins by saying that 
it rather belongs to statesmen to write concerning laws than 
to philosophers, w T ho lay down "precepts fair in argument, 
but not applicable to use," or to lawyers, who "talk in 
bonds " ; but " statesmen best understand the condition of 
civil society, welfare of the people, natural equity, custom 
of nations, and different forms of government." He rec- 
ommends Pretorian Courts, w T hich shall have power " by 
the judgment and discretion of a conscientious man, .... 
to abate the rigour of the law and to supply defects," but 
not to be allowed " to swell and overflow, so as under 
colour of mitigating the rigour of the law to break its 
strength and relax its sinews, by drawing everything to be 
a matter of discretion." He observes that " there are no 
worse snares than legal snares, especially in penal laws, if, 
being infinite in number, and useless through the lapse 
of time, instead of being as a lantern to the feet they are 
as nets to the path." And thus continues the play on this 
same subject of the conscientious man and the rigor of the 
laws : — 

" Fri. It rested in your Grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd, 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd 
Than in Lord Angelo. 

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 't was my fault to give the people scope, 
'T would be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done, 
When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 
And not the punishment. Tnerefore, indeed, my Father, 
I have on Angelo impos'd the office, 
Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home, 
And yet my nature never in the right, 

To do in slander 

Lord Angelo is precise; 



570 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 

That his blood flows, or that his appetite 

Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see, 

If power change purpose, what our seeiners be." — Act 1, Sc. 4. 

And again, thus : — 

" Lucio. This is the point. 

The Duke is very strangely gone from hence; 
— Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
In hand, and hope of action ; but we do learn 
By those that know the very nerves of State, 
Eis givings-out were of an infinite distance 
From his true-meant design. Upon his place 
And with full line of his authority, 
Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood 
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense, 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
With profits of the mind, study, and fast. 
He (to give fear to use and liberty, 
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions) hath pick'd out an Act, 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it, 
And follows close the rigour of the statute, 
To make him an example." — Act I. Sc. 5. 

The 55th Aphorism alludes to the Athenian custom of 
appointing " commissioners " to revise obsolete and con- 
tradictory laws ; and it is worthy of special notice that the 
play opens with the delivery of a like commission to this 
same Athenian statesman, who is to determine " by the 
judgment and discretion of a conscientious man," in these 
words : — 

" Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me t 1 affect speech and discourse; 
Since I am put to know, that your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you; then no more remains 
But that, to your sufficiency, — as your worth is able, — 
And let them work. The nature of our people, 
Our city's institutions, and the terms 
For common justice, y' are as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember. There is our commission, 
From which we would not have you warp." — Act 1. Sc. 1. 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 571 

In this same Book, the author dwells on " character and 
reputation " as one of the necessary means, together with 
the amendment of the mind, of raising and advancing a 
man's own fortune in life, and begins the treatise with these 
words : " Wherefore let it be my present object to go to the 
fountains of justice and public expediency, and endeavour 
with reference to the several provinces of law to exhibit a 
character and idea of justice [ u character quidam et Idea 
Justi "] in general comparison with which the laws of par- 
ticular states and kingdoms may be tested and amended." 
Again, the play proceeds thus : — 

u Duke. Angelo, 

There is a hind of character in thy life, 
Tiiat, to UY observer, doth thy history 
Fully untold. Thyself and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. 
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do; 
Not light them for ourselves; for if our virtues 
Did not yo forth of us, 7 wtrt all alike 
As if we lead them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd, 
But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends 
The smallest scruple of her excellence, 
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
Herself the glory of a creditor — 
Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 
To one that can my part in him advertise: 
Hold, therefore, Angelo, [our place and power:] 
In our remove, be thou at full ourself : 
Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus, 
Though first in question, is thy secondary: 
Take thy commission." . 

So fare you well: 

To th' hopeful execution do I leave you 
Of your commissions.' ' — Act I. Sc. 1. 

Here, we are again reminded of that saying of Bacon, that 

" good thoughts (though God accept them.) yet towards 

men are little better than good dreams, except they be put 

in act ; and that cannot be without power and place, as the 

vantage and commanding ground." 1 And in this passage, 

1 Essay of Great Place. 



572 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

Mr. White's restoration of the words " our place and power? 
in brackets, may find additional warrant, as well as in the 
following line (which he notices), from the next scene but 
one : — 

" My absolute power and place here in Vienna; " 

except that he has transposed the order of the words, while, 
doubtless, the author himself used them in the same order, 
in all three instances ; l and there can be scarcely any 
doubt that the line originally stood thus : — 

" Hold, therefore, Angelo, our power and place." 
In like manner, he proceeds to discuss the Evil Arts as 
well as the Good Arts, and enumerates " the depraved and 
pernicious doctrines " and principles of Machiavelli, of 
which one was, " That virtue itself a man should not trouble 
himself to obtain, but only the appearance thereof to the world, 
because the credit and reputation of virtue is a help, but the 
use of it is an impediment." He vigorously combats u such 
kind of corrupt wisdom " and " such dispensations from all 
the laws of charity and virtue," and lays it down, that u men 
ought to be so far removed from devoting themselves to 
wicked arts of this nature, that rather (if they are only 
in their own power, and can bear and sustain themselves 
without being carried away by a whirlwind or tempest of 
ambition) they ought to set before their eyes not only that 
general map of the world, " that all things are vanity and 
vexation of spirit? but also that more particular chart, 
namely, " that being without well-being is a curse, and the 
greater being the greater curse? and that " all virtue is most 
rewarded, and all wickedness most punished in itself ; " as the 
poet excellently says : — 

" Quae vobis, quae digna, viri, pro laudibus istis 
Praemia posse rear solvi V pulcherrima primuin 
Dii moresque dabunt vestri." 

And so, on the other hand, it is no less truly said of the 
wicked, " His own manners will be his punishment." 2 

1 White's Shakes., III., p. 14; Note, p. 112. 

2 Trans, of the De Aug., Works (Boston), IX. 295. 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 573 

An attentive study of these passages can scarcely fail to 
penetrate the subtle identity of thought and doctrine that 
pervades them both, and it will be observed that the close 
of the Duke's speech runs upon the same idea of justice 
and mercy, which has been already quoted from the " An- 
titheses," the word mortality being used for the verse, in- 
stead of justice ; that is, the power of life and death in civil 
justice. 

" And thus," he tells us, in the conclusion of this Book, 
" have I intended to employ myself in tuning the harp of 
the muses and reducing it to perfect harmony, that here- 
after the strings may be touched by a better hand or a 
better quill." He then felicitates himself upon the con- 
dition of learning in his time, alludes to the excellence and 
perfection of his Majesty's learning, which called u whole 
flocks of wits " around him, " as birds around a phoenix," 
and, lastly, points out the inseparable property of time, 
ever more and more to disclose Truth : " — 

M for truth is truth 
To the end of reckoning." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

If there be any one thing for which these plays as a 
whole are preeminently remarkable, it is a profound recog- 
nition everywhere of an immanent world-streaming Di- 
vine Providence. In this fine play, in particular, it may 
be seen in the Duke being made a partaker of God's 
theatre and of " power divine," and in the " gentle Isabella," 
the nun, of whom Lucio is made to say : — 

"I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted; 
By your renouncement an immortal spirit; 
And to be talk'd with in sincerity, 
As with a saint." — Act I. Sc. 5. 

And there is perhaps nothing loftier, or more impressive, 
in any teaching, sacred or profane, than her final appeal to 
Lord Angelo : — 

"Isab. Alas, alas ! 

Why all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 



674 REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 

And He that might the vantage best have took, 
Found out the remedy : How would you be. 
If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are V 0, think on that ; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made." — Act IF. Sc. 2. 

And not less pious, noble, and true, whether as applied to 
the De Augmentis alone, or to these dramas also, both in- 
clusive, as twin products of the labors of a life, written 
chiefly in the earlier part of it, but enlarged, amended, 
elaborated, and finished in his later years, and finally given 
to the world together in the same year 1623, not openly as 
twins, but as utter strangers to each other, the one heralded 
to mankind under favor of a princely dedication and high- 
sounding titles, the other carefully hidden, though secretly 
open, under a mask of Momus, and set to parade the 
universal theatre on its own merits in the name of a " noted 
weed," is the conclusion of this Advancement of Learn- 
ing, an almost equally superb monument of his piety, his 
learning, his genius, and his intellect, in these words : 
" And certainly it may be objected to me with truth, that 
my words require an age ; a whole age perhaps to prove 
them, and many ages to perfect them. But yet as even the 
greatest things are owing to their beginnings, it will be 
enough for me to have sown a seed for posterity and the 
Immortal God ; whose Majesty I humbly implore through 
his Son our Saviour that He will vouchsafe favorably to 
accept these and the like offerings of the human intellect, 
seasoned with religion as with salt, and sacrificed to His 

Glory." 

Finally, this order of degree, justice, and authentic place 
of things, from the glorious planet Sol, enthroned like the 
commandment of a king, down through states, communities, 
and brotherhoods in cities, sounds very much like this pas- 
sage from a Speech of Lord Bacon : " We see the degrees 
and differences of duties in families, between father and 
son, master and servant ; in corporate bodies, between 



REVERENCE AND DEGREE. 575 

commonalties and their officers, recorders, stewards, and 
the like ; yet all these give place to the king's command- 
ments." The planets, too, were a favorite source of meta- 
phor with him, as thus in the " Pericles " : — 

" The senate-house of planets all did sit, 
To knit in her their best perfections." — Act I. Sc. 2. 

And thus it appears in another speech of Bacon : " You 
that are the judges of circuits are, as it were, the planets 
of the kingdom," and again, " it will indeed dignify and 
exalt knowledge, if contemplation and action may be more 
nearly and strongly united together than they have been ; a 
conjunction like unto that of the two highest planets, Saturn, 
the planet of rest and contemplation, and Jupiter, the planet 
of civil society and action." And here, again, we may 
remember "the magnificent palace, city, and hill " of the 
wise and good man of the New Atlantis, who wore "an 
aspect as if he pitied men," and " the several degrees 
of ascent whereby men did climb up the same, as if it had 
been a Scala Cceli." This is " the ladder to all high de- 
signs " — Heaven's Ladder ! And doubtless for this reason, 
the intended Fourth Part of the Great Installation was to 
be called " Scala Intellectus : The Scaling Ladder of the In- 
tellect, or Thread of the Labyrinth." Holinshed speaks of 
" the palpable blindness of that age wherein King John 
lived, as also the religion which they reposed in a rotten 
ray, esteeming it as a Scala Cceli, or ladder to life." 1 Pos- 
sibly, this passage may have been seen by William Shake- 
speare ; but here, also, we have distinct and indubitable 
proof of the fact, that it had become imprinted in the 
memory of Francis Bacon. 

1 Chron. of Eng., n. 338. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

" I have, though in a despised weed, procured the good of all men." — Bacon. 

§ 1. REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 

How such a man could fall into the actual guilt of bribery 
to pervert justice, would be difficult to conceive, if that 
were really true in the full sense in which we understand 
the judicial offence of bribery and corruption ; for this 
would necessarily imply, not only a direct contradiction to 
the tenor and spirit of all his writings, but such absolute 
want of moral principle and such Machiavellian baseness 
and utter worthlessness of character as would be wholly 
irreconcilable, as he himself said, when speaking of the 
Machiavellian Bad Arts, with any just notion of virtue, 
nobleness, or honor. A candid view of all the facts and 
circumstances, of which it is not improbable that we now 
know more, and can judge better, than the partial his- 
torians and personal enemies who have written against him, 
will certainly not justify this sweeping conclusion. We 
must take into view the state and condition of things in 
that age and the actual nature of the case ; — the character 
of the government as practically an absolute despotism, in 
which the most capricious favoritism was supreme arbiter 
of individual fortunes about the court; money a necessary, 
or the best, passport to place and power ; abject subser- 
viency a common condition of favor with the monarch and 
his greater favorites ; and the most vile and corrupt prac- 
tices a general thing among the principal courtiers, and 



REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 577 

the custom notorious among nearly all the higher officers 
of state, judicial and other, the chancellor included, of 
receiving, not bribes as they understood them, but unlimited 
fees, customary gifts, gracious presents, and bountiful lar- 
gesses, as well as the " ancient and known perquisites" of 
office. Many grew rich and great by sheer knavery, cor- 
rupt intrigue, and merciless plunder ; and no man was 
quite safe in the possession of a lucrative and splendid 
office. All this is clearly exhibited in the history of such 
miscreants as Churchill, Cranfield, Williams, and the Vil- 
lierses, not altogether omitting Buckingham himself. The 
Lord Chancellor was not merely a judge, but a high State 
functionary, next to royalty itself, and keeper of the King's 
conscience, which would not always be kept, in an age of 
princely magnificence, absolute prerogative, and unlimited 
power, and in a bottomless whirlpool of avarice, intrigue 
and ambition. Political rivalries, common enough in any 
age, were hugely grim and fierce in this reign, as witness 
the life-long struggle of Coke and Bacon for the ascendency 
in the State and over each other. Coke gained honor in 
being deposed from the King's Bench, and his defence of 
Magna Charta and his great merits in the law have made 
his name illustrious with posterity. Bacon, greatly his 
superior in knowledge, learning, genius, science- and arts, 
if not his equal in law, and with a reputation and character 
far more illustrious than his, in his own time, is suddenly 
tumbled from the woolsack into eternal disgrace, and comes 
down to posterity a very by-word of infamy and meanness. 
But looking to the whole life and conduct? of these men, 
and comparing the nobleness, disinterestedness, and purity 
of Bacon's life with the coarse ferocity, the inappeasable 
malignity, and the really unutterable meanness of Coke in 
many things, old Escalus might inquire, " Which is the 
wiser here ? Justice, or Iniquity ? " Not that all these 
things together can extenuate a crime, or a guilt confessed, 
nor that badness in others can be any excuse for baseness 

37 



578 REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 

in him ; but that considerations like these may help to 
explain the fact of Bacon's fall from power, without the 
necessity of imputing to him the moral guilt of actual 
bribery and corruption, or any degree of meanness ; much 
less a total want of moral sense, and an habitual baseness 
of character, as some of his biographers have ignorantly 
done. 

Only some three years before the attack on Bacon, we 
find Buckingham and Coke fomenting charges of the like 
nature, and with the same corrupt and wicked purpose of 
creating a vacancy to be filled by some new minion, and 
putting up the same pretence of corruption in taking bribes, 
of money, a ring, a cabinet, a piece of plate, and the like, 
against the Lord Chancellor Egerton (Ellesmere), nearly 
breaking the old man's heart ; and it might have been as 
successful with him as it was with Bacon, afterwards, had 
not the King himself come to his relief, and defeated the 
scheme by giving an earldom to Egerton and the Seals to 
Bacon. The real truth of the matter was, that the age 
began to discover that an ancient custom needed to be 
reformed, because it began to be felt as a grievance and 
an abuse. Old blackletter laws, fallen obsolete, practically 
superseded by custom almost equally ancient, and now 
lying more dead than asleep, were suddenly revived and 
put in force, and all at once what had been a lantern to the 
feet became a net in the path. 

In like manner, long afterwards, in the reign of George 
I., the Lord Chancellor Macclesfield was arraigned before 
the House of Lords for " the sale of offices " in chancery. 
He had followed the custom and practice of his predeces- 
sors in office, time out of mind, and received presents from 
newly appointed officers as " the ancient and known per- 
quisites of the Great Seal." Being a little avaricious^ 
perhaps, he had carried the thing to a pretty high figure. 
The Masters had fallen into the practice of paying the pres- 
ents out of the funds of the suitors in their hands and then 



REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 579 

speculating in stocks to make them good again. Suddenly, 
the great South Sea Bubble burst and there was a great 
loss. Masters and suitors were ruined ; and a loud cry for 
reform became the rage of the day. The brunt of the 
storm fell on the head of the Lord Chancellor. Against 
the custom were paraded certain old obsolete Statutes of 
Richard II. and Edward VI., in unreadable law French, 
" several hundred years " forgotten, within the letter of 
which his case happened to fall, and did not happen to fall 
within the exception, as that of the Judges of the Law 
Courts did ; and so Macclesfield was condemned to ever- 
lasting infamy for doing about the same thing that the 
Judges were doing, and had a right to do, without any 
thought of wrong. But it was all wrong, undoubtedly : 
offices never ought to have been sold at all, nor presents 
taken. On the trial, a witness was asked, if the Lord 
Chancellor Cowper, and Harcourt, had not done the same 
thing, in their times. " yes," answered the witness. 
But, breaks in Lord Harcourt from his seat on the 
benches, " Did I ever haggle for more ? " and " Didn't they 
pay me out of their own money ? " * In modern times, a 
rational remedy for such evils would be found in a new 
Statute, giving an ample fixed salary, with utter prohibition 
of all fees, perquisites, and presents, any custom to the con- 
trary notwithstanding ; but in these more ancient days, it was 
by summary outbreak — Off with the Chancellors head ! 
hurl his name and reputation into the bottomless pit ! — 
and let the bursting of South Sea bubbles forever cease ! 

In the reign of James I., the Lord Chancellor had no 
fixed salary, or a merely nominal one, and yet his income 
was expected to be some £15,000 a year: it came from 
ancient perquisites and customary fees, not regulated by 
other law than the custom. But to such a pitch had grown 
all manner of abuses, in this reign, in monopolies, patents, 
prerogative exactions, fees, presents, and largesses, reaching 

i 16 Howell's State Trials, 1151. 



580 REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 

all the Courts of Justice and nearly all the offices of State, 
that every Parliament opened with a thundering demand 
for reform and a redress of grievances, and was immediately 
prorogued and sent home because it did so, until at last 
reform had to come. Buckingham, the prime favorite, 
whose frown was fatal to all lesser dependants, did not 
scruple to write letters to the Lord Chancellor, urging upon 
him a favorable consideration of particular suitors in his 
court. Here was indeed danger that justice might be per- 
verted, if the judge were really dishonest. There is no 
charge that Bacon was ever swerved under this pressure ; 
and it is certain that he counselled in eloquent terms against 
a practice which he had no power to correct. And is it 
any matter of wonder that, yielding to the necessities of 
his actual condition, and unconscious of any dereliction 
of duty, or any falling from virtue and honor, he should 
adopt and continue the customs and usages of former 
Chancellors, or even slide into the common practices and 
abuses of the Court and time and throng in which he had 
to live and move ? Birth-day presents, New Year's gifts, 
splendid offerings on various occasions, largesses of money, 
and magnificent favors, were common, and Bacon seems 
to have participated in these things in some small degree 
with the rest. Transition from the State functionary to the 
judge in the same person, or from the courtier to the 
suitor, was but a short distance to travel, and the distinc- 
tion between a fee, a present, and a bribe was not well 
marked by any law, and more easily lost sight of than in 
our day. Practically, hardly any distinction existed, then. 
According to the researches of Mr. Dixon, the compensa- 
tion of all the great officers of State, including the Chancel- 
lor, Judges, and Bishops, from the King down to the King's 
Sergeant, was derived from these indefinite fees, gifts, and 
perquisites, there being no such thing as a civil list, and 
such fixed salaries as there were being merely nominal. 1 

1 Pars. Hist, of Lord JSacon, 290. 



REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 581 

Most of the charges against Bacon were founded upon 
gifts accepted as usual after the cases had been determined, 
as a compensation justly due in the absence of fees fixed 
by law, of which there were none. Some were received by 
his servants, or under-officers, without his personal knowl- 
edge, before the cases had been decided ; and in some of 
these instances, the money was ordered to be returned as 
improper, when reported to him. In other cases, he was 
not actually aware that the donors had causes pending in 
hh court. In nearly all cases, the gifts were presented 
thiough eminent counsel and persons of high standing, and 
in most cases, openly, and with the knowledge of all con- 
cerned ; and as Coke himself admitted, as it were, in the 
presence of witnesses. In general, they were received by 
his clerks and the officers whose business it was to collect 
and receive the fees and emoluments of his office. The 
grievance of the chief complainants was, that their cases had 
been decided against them, notwithstanding the gifts ; nor 
does it appear that his judgments were at all affected by 
these alleged bribes. None of the cases were reversed on 
appeal ; but appeals were not common in those days, says 
Lord Campbell. After a thorough scrutiny into the whole 
matter, Mr. Dixon comes to the conclusion, that there is 
no fair and just ground for supposing that Bacon " had 
done wrong, knowing it to be wrong," in a single instance ; 
that " not a single fee or remembrance traced to the Chan- 
cellor can, by any fair construction, be called a bribe. Not 
one appears to have been given upon a promise ; not one 
appears to have been given in secret ; not one is alleged to 
have corrupted justice." This conclusion would almost 
bring the case within the precedent of the play, in which 
Bassanio offers the judge, after judgment pronounced, the 
" three thousand ducats due unto the Jew " for his " courte- 
ous pains withal " : — 

" Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
In love and service to you evermore. 



582 REFORMAT JuX OF ABUSES. 

Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied: 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied, 
And therein do account myself well paid. 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you farther: 
Take some remembrance of us as a tribute, 
Not as a fee 

Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
Give me your gloves ; I '11 wear them for your sake ; 
And, for your love, I '11 take this ring from you." 

Mer. of Ven., Act IV. Sc. 1. 

All this may be true ; and yet it would seem to be clear 
from the recorded facts and his own admissions, that the 
gifts were too large, in some instances, to come under the 
head of ordinary fees, and the circumstances such as to 
make him, at least, a partaker in the abuses of the time. 
Indeed, the actual facts as formally confessed by himself 
would, undoubtedly, by strict legal construction, bring the 
case, in some instances, within the judicial offence of 
bribery as technically defined by law, where the intent 
would have to be inferred from the facts. Said Lord Mac- 
clesfield, " If you are to judge me by the strict rigor of the 
statute, all my fees were bribes ; for the fees were no more 
lawful than the presents." And yet it would be absurd to 
charge the judge with the moral guilt of base corruption, in 
such case and under such circumstances. Considering the 
imperial nature of Bacon's mind, habitually soaring aloft 
amidst the highest contemplations, and intending, as he said, 
to move " in the true straight line of nobleness," and more 
or less constantly preoccupied, as he was, with other mat- 
ters than the business of the court and the watching of 
servants, clerks, and chancery suitors, and blinded in some 
degree, perhaps, by the splendor of state which attended 
him, and never particularly attentive to money affairs, and 
always rather munificent than avaricious or griping, it is 
easy to see how he might insensibly fall into a somewhat 
negligent and inconsiderate indulgence in the common 



REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 583 

practices and abuses, especially with the example of illus- 
trious predecessors before him to justify them, even to the 
extent of all the facts necessary to make out a case of brib- 
ery, in strict legal construction, without his conscience being 
aroused, though sensible to all honor and virtue, to any 
sense of wrong, much less to a consciousness of corrupt 
guilt in the perversion of justice at the fountain head, as it 
must be admitted, would, and should, be the case with any 
honest judge in our time, under any similar circumstances 
which could now take place. But no such case could now 
arise. Though it be difficult to make such " gross sins 
look clear," or wholly to justify or excuse them, on the 
highest moral grounds, when the whole matter is duly con- 
sidered, it is perhaps still possible to believe that no cor- 
rupt intent, or thought, ever entered into his mind in these 
matters, and that what he said for himself may have been 
really true : — " And for the briberies and gifts wherewith 
I am charged, when the book of hearts shall be opened, I 
hope I shall not be found to have the troubled fountain of 
a corrupt heart in a depraved habit of taking rewards to 
pervert justice ; howsoever I may be frail and partake of 
the abuses of the times." 

In a draft of a paper to be delivered to the King, before 
the formal proceedings in the House of Lords, and in 
which he appears carefully to have considered the real 
state of the case, he distinguished cases of gifts received 
into three degrees : 1. Of bargain or contract for reward 
to pervert justice ; 2. Where the judge conceives the law 
to be at an end, by the information of the party, or other- 
wise, and useth not such diligence as he ought, to inquire 
into it ; 3. When the cause is really ended, and the gift is 
sine fraude without relation to any precedent promise. 
Of the first, he declared his entire innocence ; of the 
second, he doubted in some instances he might have been 
faulty ; and of the third, he considered it to be no fault ; 
but in this respect he desired to be better informed, that 



584 REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 

he might be twice penitent, once for the fact, and again for 
the error. After a critical examination of the particulars 
of the charge, which were admitted to be true in fact, and 
constituted the whole foundation of the confession that he 
was therein technically " guilty of corruption," Mr. Dixon 
fairly and justly concludes, that most of the cases fall 
under Bacon's third division ; one or two under the second ; 
but not one under the first. 1 

In our day, when judges receive compensation by ade- 
quate fixed salaries, no such thing as the receiving of 
presents of money, or other things of value, before or after 
judgment, w T ith or without the party having a cause then 
pending in his court, would be countenanced at all : it 
would justly be taken as evidence of a fraudulent and cor- 
rupt character. But it was quite a different thing in that 
age, when there was not only no salary, but no fees that 
were definitely fixed by law, and the revenues of the office 
were notoriously understood to be derived from the custom- 
ary, ancient, and known perquisites, presents included. In 
this indefinite state of the thing, there was necessarily large 
room and a pretty wide range for the exercise of discretion. 
In the upshot, the truth would seem to be, that ancient 
practice, at first strictly against law, had so grown into use, 
in the course of time, that it might well be matter of doubt 
whether the custom, or the ancient statute, was to have the 
force of law. In this way, small fees had grown into large 
fees ; perquisites into presents, and presents into bountiful 
largesses ; until the practice finally came to be felt as an 
enormous abuse. The Commons had determined, long 
before, to have a reform of these abuses, and a redress of 
grievances generally. Complaint being made of the Lord- 
Chancellor, they struck at him first. Bacon, finding him- 
self suddenly confronted with this movement and the strict 
law of the subject, probably saw at once that he must be 
made a victim to the rigor of the statute, and that the facts 

1 Story of Lord Bacon's Life, 443. 



REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 585 

taken literally and by strict legal construction would bring 
him within the technical definition of bribery and corrup- 
tion ; though he had never imagined that he could be 
charged with anything criminal or corrupt in what he was 
doing. And so, the literal facts he freely admitted and 
confessed as they were : — 

" Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice, 
(An honour in him which buys out his fault) " ; 

while at the same time solemnly protesting that he had 
never had " the fountain of a corrupt heart in a depraved 
habit of taking bribes to pervert justice." And this may 
be very true. His confession, too, must be taken with 
some allowance for the nature of the case. He w r as in effect 
as good as forbidden to make any formal defence to the 
charge ; and perhaps no successful defence could have 
been made against the technical offence. He must either 
make a defence, or confess the full scope of the charge, the 
intent and guilt included : technically, he was guilty, if the 
corrupt intent were to be an inference of law from the facts 
admitted, or if the House of Lords should so find, sitting 
as a jury. But even this need not prevent us from con- 
sidering the real nature of the case, nor (in reference to 
his character) from viewing it in a just and true light. 
We may bear in mind, also, that the character of Lord 
Bacon was of that Christian quality as to be loudest of all 
in the confession of his own sins. 

It is evident, on a review of the contemporaneous his- 
tory, that the action of the Commons was taken mainly in 
pursuance of the general measures of political reform in 
the State, which had been previously determined on ; 
while on the part of the immediate and prime movers in this 
instance, it w T as as plainly a mere intrigue, and a base plot 
and contrivance, to create a vacancy for a new minion of the 
favorite. The knavish insinuations and open charges of 
Churchill, Cran field, and Williams, secretly fomented by 
Buckingham, and publicly supported by the vigorous malig- 



586 REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 

nity of Coke, his old enemy, gave the movement a par- 
ticular direction against Bacon ; and upon him the wall 
fell, though he was far from being the greatest offender in 
Israel. Whether he was actually constrained by the power 
of Buckingham and the King to abandon his defence, or 
not, it is plain he saw that his only hope was in the favor 
of the King, and he certainly expected that the King would 
pardon any sentence that might be pronounced upon him, 
and save him from total ruin. Buckingham controlled the 
King, and Bacon knew it very well, and therefore avoided 
as much as possible any breach with him. As soon as the 
harpies had made sure of his office, they began to strip 
him of his estates. Buckingham insisted upon having 
York House. At first, Bacon positively refused to part 
with it : " York House," he said, u is the house wherein my 
father died, and wherein I first breathed ; and there will I 
yield my last breath, if so please God, and the King will 
give me leave." But the King would not give him leave 
against Buckingham, and York House had to go. Buck- 
ingham was so incensed at his refusal, that he caused him 
to be sent immediately to the Tower, four weeks after the 
sentence, and in open violation of the King's promise ; 
though by the King's own order, he was discharged the 
same day. 1 Next, they demanded Gorhambury, with its 
forests and gardens, until it seemed to his friend Meautys 
that they had such a word as "fleecing " 2 in their vocabu- 
lary : — "I will not be stripped of my feathers," roars the 
lion at bay. The King did not allow him to be made quite 
a beggar : he gave him his fine, which, it seems, barely en- 
abled him to satisfy his creditors and make a will. " Thank 
God," says the fallen Chancellor, " I can now make a will." 
While he was yet determined to defend himself against the 
charges, and after the wily and intriguing Dean Williams 
had suggested to Buckingham and the King the project of 

1 Dixon's Per. Hist, of Lord Bacon. 

2 Letter to Bacon, 



REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 587 

a submission and full pardon for Bacon as the only sacri- 
fice that could save them, being summoned to an inter- 
view with the King, he prepares some minutes for the con- 
ference, in which he says : " The law of nature teaches me 
to speak in my own defence. With respect to the charge 
of bribery, I am as innocent as any born upon St. Inno- 
cent's day : I never had bribe or reward in my eye or 
thought when pronouncing sentence or order. If, however, 
it is absolutely necessary, the King's will shall be obeyed, 
I am ready to make an oblation of myself to the King, in 
whose hands I am as clay, to be made a vessel of honour 
or dishonour." The King advised (that is, commanded) a 
submission, and gave ;i his princely word he would then 
restore him again," if the Lords " in their honours should 
not be sensible of his merits." Bacon answered : " I 
see my approaching ruin ; there is no hope of mercy in a 
multitude, if I do not plead for myself, when my enemies 
are to give fire. Those who strike at your Chancellor 
will strike at your crown." But he acquiesced, at last, 
with these words : u I am the first ; I wish I may be the 
last sacrifice." 1 

But when Coke, at the head of the Commons, sounding 
the trumpet of reform, had made an oblation necessary, 
and the first stroke fell upon the head of his hated rival ; 
when Bacon discovered that a venal, corrupt, and perfid- 
ious crew of upstart minions, Churchill, Cranfield, Dean 
Williams, and the widow Villiers, following in the slimy 
train of Buckingham, and conspiring deeper than he knew, 
or could imagine, for the spoils of place and his ruin, had 
involved him and the King, too, in the inextricable meshes 
of an invisible net, and that his fall was inevitable ; when 
he saw that he had 

" stepped into the law, which is past depth 
To those that, without heed, do plunge into it," 

and found himself caught in the fatal trap, and the sen- 

1 Life, by Montagu, I. xciii. 



588 REFORMATION OF ABUSES. 

tence came with utter ruin to his fortunes, for which he 
cared less, his titles of honor and nobility being barely 
saved, under mercy of Buckingham, with the help of the 
Prince of Wales, the Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery, 
and others of the most illustrious peers, together with the 
whole bench of Bishops, yet with some loss of that " sweet 
odour of honour and reputation throughout the world," 
which he prized more, " honour," as he said to the Lords, 
" being above life," or as it is said, elsewhere : — 

" The purest treasure mortal times afford 
Is spotless reputation ; that away, 
Men are but guilded loam or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten times barr'd up chest 
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done " ; 

[Rich. II, Act I. Sc. 1.] 

when he saw the dark cloud lowering across the future 
ages, casting its shadow upon his credit, name, and mem- 
ory, and obscuring his light to unborn generations ; he was 
overwhelmed with the keenest anguish. He appealed to 
the magnanimity of the British Senate to make his fault 
no greater than it really was, and his sentence no more 
than was " for reformation's sake fit " ; — not " heavy to 
my ruin, but gracious, and mixed with mercy " : — 

" 0, my lords, 
As you are great, be pitifully good." — Tim., Act III. Sc. 5. 

When the committee of the House waited upon him to 
know if his submission and confession were genuine, he 
answered in deep distress : u My Lords, it is my act, 
my hand, and my heart. I beseech your Lordships to 
be merciful to a broken reed." Lord Campbell seems to 
take this touching humility as the last proof of baseness 
and guilt: — -is there any wonder that his distress was deep, 
and his affliction great, — 

" Seeing his reputation touch' d to death? " — Tim., Act III. Sc. 5. 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 589 

Rather, when the whole matter is duly weighed, charitable 
minds may be inclined to lend an ear to rare Ben Jonson, 
who says : " In his adversity, I ever prayed that God would 
give him strength, for greatness he could not want; neither 
could I condole in a word or syllable for him, as knowing 
no accident could do harm to virtue, but rather help to 
make it manifest : " — 

" mighty love ! Man is one world 
And hath another to attend him." 

All men see the world without, after a certain fashion ; but 
each man only can see his own world within. We are 
accustomed (safely enough in general) to judge the soul of 
another by the relations which it may seem to sustain to 
the moving world of things without. But inasmuch as the 
best soul has to swim on the bosom of the stream, it may, 
in spite of itself, fall into the strangest apparent relations to 
the whirl of things that float together upon the surface : it 
is still possible for a pure soul to swim unstained in very 
guilty looking company. What if it were possible for a 
great soul to be able to administer justice to a school of 
bribers ! A certain other, for doing the like of this, was 
nailed up between two thieves as if he had been no better 
than they ; for to the nailors he appeared to steal corn on 
Sunday. Temples of Jerusalem, and Ephesus, and St. 
Peter, and St. Paul ! What sums have not been expended 
in attempting to bribe the Supreme Judge to pass in goats 
among the sheep ! So much may be permitted, and justice 
be administered, nevertheless, at " the top of judgment." 

§ 2. PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

Shakespeare has long been considered by all that speak 
the English tongue, and by the learned of other nations like- 
wise, as the greatest of dramatic poets. The ancients had 
but one Homer : the moderns have but one Shakespeare. 
And these two have been fitly styled " the Twin Stars of 
Poesy " in all the world. These plays have kept the stage 



590 PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

better than any other for nearly three centuries. They 
have been translated into several foreign languages ; a vast 
amount of critical erudition has been expended upon them ; 
and numerous editions have been printed, and countless 
numbers of copies have been distributed, generation after 
generation, increasing in a kind of geometrical progression, 
through all ranks and classes of society from the metropoli- 
tan palace to the frontier cabin, until it may almost be said, 
that if there be anywhere a family possessing but two only 
books, the one may be the Bible, but the other is sure to be 
Shakespeare. 

Nevertheless, the plays have been understood and appre- 
ciated rather according to existing standards of judgment 
than according to all that was really in them. In general, 
our English minds seem to have been aware that their poet 
was more or less philosophical, or rather that he was a kind 
of universal genius ; but that he was a Platonic thinker, a 
transcendental metaphysician and philosopher, an idealist 
and a realist all in one, not many seem to have discovered. 
Coleridge certainly had some inkling of this fact, and to 
Carlyle, it stood perfectly clear, that Shakespeare " does not 
look at a thing, but into it, through it ; so that he con- 
structively comprehends it, can take it asunder, and put it 
together again ; the thing melts, as it were, into light under 
his eye, and anew creates itself before him. That is to 
say, he is a Thinker in the highest of all senses : he is a 
Poet. For Goethe, as for Shakespeare, the world lies all 
translucent, all fusible we might call it, encircled with 
Wonder ; the Natural in reality the Supernatural, for to 
the seer's eyes both become one." * And so also Gervinus 
concludes upon the question of " the realistic or ideal treat- 
ment," that 4i he is sometimes the one, sometimes the other, 
but in reality neither, because he is both at once." 2 Deep 
searching criticism, on this side of the sea, has been able 
to sound the depths and scale the heights of the Higher 

1 Essays, IH. 209. 2 Shakespeare Coram. (London, 1863), II. 569. 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 591 

Philosophy of Bacon, and it is almost equally clear that it 
has discovered in it the world-streaming providence of 
Shakespeare. "The English shrink from a generalization," 
says Emerson. " They do not look abroad into universality, 
or they draw only a bucket-full at the fountain of the First 
Philosophy for their occasion, and do not go to the spring- 
head. Bacon, who said this, is almost unique among his' 
countrymen in that faculty, at least among the prose-writers. 
Milton, who was the stair or high table-land to let down the 
English genius from the summits of Shakespeare, used this 
privilege sometimes in poetry, more rarely in prose. For a 
long interval afterwards, it is not found." * We know how 
Bacon attained to these heights ; but it is not explained 
how the unlearned William Shakespeare reached these 
same " summits " of all philosophy, otherwise than by a 
suggestion of " the specific gravity " of inborn genius. 
Have we any evidence outside of these plays, that this 
" dry light " of nature was greater in William Shakespeare 
than in Francis Bacon ? In Bacon, as in the plays, we 
have not only the inborn genius, but a life of study, knowl- 
edge, science, philosophy, art, and the wealth of all learn- 
ing. Are these things to be counted as nothing ? Then 
we may as well abolish the universities, burn the libraries, 
and shut up the schools, as of no use : — 
" Hang up philosophy: 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse a Prince's doom, 
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more." 

Romeo and Juliet, Act III. Sc. 3. 

For the most part, all that has been seen in Shakespeare 
has been considered as the product of some kind of nat.iral 
genius or spontaneous inspiration. The reason has been 
nearly this, that since Bacon, if Berkeley be excepted, 
England, or the English language, has never had a phi- 
losophy at all : we have had nothing but a few sciences and 
a theology. Bacon's Summary Philosophy, or Philosophy 

1 English Traits, 244. 



592 PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

itself, seems to have fallen still-born from his delivery, a 
dead letter to our English mind. It was not grasped, and 
the existence of it in his works seems to have been for- 
gotten. No English, or American, philosopher has yet 
appeared to review, expound, and complete it, in any sys- 
tematic manner : this work has been left to those who are 
said to hold dominion of the air. Some there have been, 
doubtless, as capable as any of undertaking to give a com- 
plete systematic statement of all philosophy ; but they 
probably knew too well what kind of an undertaking that 
would be, when a perfect work might require not only a 
divine man, but a book as large as the Book of God's 
Works. The men that are called philosophers among us 
are occupied with physical science only. What Bacon en- 
deavored to re-organize, and constitute anew, as methods 
and instruments for obtaining a broader and surer "•foun- 
dation " for a higher metaphysical philosophy, they appear 
to have mistaken for the whole of science and the sum total 
of all certain knowledge, excepting only a fantastical kind 
of traditional supernatural knowledge, for the most part, 
completely ignoring metaphysics ; and, as a matter of 
course, they have given us as little conception of a phi- 
losophy of the universe, and, with all their physical science, 
have had as little to give, as a Humboldt's Cosmos, or that 
prodigious Frenchman, M. Auguste Comte. 

Besides a physical science we have had only a theology, 
taking old Hebrew and some later Greek literature for all 
divine revelation ; the Mosaic cosmogony for the constitu- 
tion of the universe ; Usher's chronology for an account of 
all time on this earth ; Adamic genealogy for an ethnology 
of the human race ; Jesus of Nazareth for the creator of 
the whole world and sole saviour of mankind ; and some 
five or six fantastic miracles for all the boundless and eter- 
nal wonders of the creation. These old ones are nearly 
worn out, and are fast becoming obsolete : indeed, they are 
already well-nigh extinct. It is high time they were laid 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 593 

up on a shelf, and labelled to be studied hereafter as fossils 
of the theological kingdom ; and preachers, opening their 
eyes, should cast about for a new set, at least, out of all the 
universe of miracles that surround them, and henceforth 
found thier preaching on them. There would then be 
much less trouble about faith, and infidelity to myths and 
superstitions might become fidelity to God and his truth. 

And so, having no philosophy, and no conception of the 
possibility of any, and nothing to give the name to, our 
English mind has appropriated the word as a superfluous 
synonym for physical science, and scarcely allowed free 
scope to that ; and among us, the Newtons, Franklins, 
Faradays, Brewsters, and Darwins, are called philosophers, 
as Hegel said. These men are certainly to be ranked 
among the master minds of the world as original inventors 
and discoverers in physics, as philosophical observers and 
excellent writers on physical science, with the addition, in 
some instances, of a considerable sprinkling of orthodox 
theology, and in some others, as in Newton, the younger 
Herschel, Agassiz, Peirce, with the addition of not a few 
remarkable deep-soundings into the fundamental depths 
of things and the hidden mysteries of creation ; as it were, 
some prophetic flashes of the most exalted intellect across 
the darkness of their own age and time in dim anticipation 
of a coming century ; as when Newton says, " Only what- 
ever light be, I would suppose it consists of successive rays 
differing from one another in contingent circumstances, as 
bigness, force, or vigor, like as the sands of the shore, the 
waves of the sea, the faces of men, and all other natural 
things of the same kind differ, it being almost impossible 
for any sort of things to be formed without some contingent 
variety." And again, " Every soul that has perception is, 
though in different times and in different organs of sense 
and motion, still the same indivisible person. There are 
given successive parts in duration, co-existent parts in space, 
but neither the one nor the other in the person of a man, 
38 



594 PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

or his thinking principle ; and much less can they be found 
in the thinking substance of God. Every man so far as he 
is a thing that has perception, is one and the same man 
during his whole life, in all and each of his organs of sense. 
God is the same God, always and everywhere. He is 
omnipresent not virtually only, but also substantially ; for 
virtue cannot subsist without substance." 1 This is Berke- 
ley's philosophy of a thinking substance, existing as reality, 
and not at all as any ideal vision of a mystical dreamer. 
Auguste Comte, ignoring theology and metaphysics together, 
calls his huge book of physical science a ".Positive Phi- 
losophy " : it is indeed positive enough, and in the total 
upshot as unphilosophical as positive ; — as if a universe 
could be constituted and carried on by mere physics and 
phrenologico-biology on a basis of dead substratum, or could 
be conceived to go of itself as a blind perpetual-motion 
machine ! But how shall any one, not having eyes to see, 
be able to see, that it goes only as the power of thought 
could make it go, and not otherwise ? If the light within 
you be dark, how great is that darkness. 

Among the theologians, we have had a class, of writers, 
who have been sometimes called metaphysicians, but who 
were, in truth, merely metaphysical theologians, swimming, 
like Jean Paul's fish, in a box, and the box tied to the 
shore of church or state with a given length of rope ; or 
materialistic anti-theologians, and in either case, no more 
metaphysicians than philosophers. Of the one sort were 
Locke, Reid, Brown, Stewart, and Hamilton ; and of the 
other, Hobbes, Halley, Hume, Mill, Lewes, and Harriet 
Martineau. Not one of either sort appears ever to have 
been able to cross the threshold of that Higher Philosophy, 
which Bacon, following the dim light of Plato, but mainly 
by the help of his own Boanergic genius, endeavored to 
erect and constitute as the one universal science, and in 
which he was followed, in their own way, by Berkeley and 
1 Principia, (ed. Chittenden, N. Y. 1848,) p. 505. 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 595 

Swedenborg. After these, Kant seems to have been the 
next to make a clear breach over that threshold, when 
prying off into the palpable obscure of the previous dark- 
ness, as a Vulcanian miner drifts into the bowels of the 
earth after unknown ores, or as a Columbus launches upon 
an unexplored ocean, believing with such as Bacon and all 
high philosophic genius, that beyond the pillars of Hercules 
there may be lands yet undiscovered, he began to make 
that darkness visible to some few, through the Transcen- 
dental ^Esthetic of Time and Space. It has been easier, 
since, even for lesser lights, to follow and enlarge and clear 
the drift, thus roughly cut into solid darkness by the life- 
labor of all powerful thought ; and hence that modern 
school of philosophy, which has done something toward a 
critical exegesis of the fundamental and eternal laws of 
thought, the true nature of substance or matter, a true 
knowledge of cause and " the mode of that thing which is 
uncaused," a sound and rational psychology, and some more 
scientific, intelligible, and satisfactory account of the con- 
stitution of this universe, and of the order of divine prov- 
idence and the destiny of man in it : — in fine, a Universal 
Philosophy. 

German scholars of this modern school, whether special 
students of this philosophy, or debtors to its results for 
their ideas and methods, have been filled with admiration 
of the super-eminent genius of Shakespeare. " The poetry 
of Shakespeare," says Frederick Schlegel, " has much ac- 
cord with the German mind." Goethe, despairing to excel 
him, ranks him first among modern poets, and honors 
Hamlet with a place in the Wilhelm Meister ; and Richter, 
no less, discovering at once the amazing depth of his phi- 
losophy, makes him rule sovereign in the heart of his 
Albano, — " not through the breathing of living characters, 
but by lifting him up out of the loud kingdom of earth into 
the silent realm of infinity." * How wonderful, indeed, is 
i Titan, by Brooks, I. 154. 



596 PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

all this ! Is it, then, that we have here a born genius, to 
whose all-seeing vision schools and libraries, sciences and 
philosophies, were unnecessary, — were an idle waste of 
time, forsooth ? — whose marvellous intuition grasped all 
the past and saw through all the present ? whose prophetic 
insight spans the future ages as they roll up, measures the 
highest wave of the modern learning and philosophy, and 
follows backward the tide of civilization, arts, and letters, 
to the very borders of the barbaric lands ? — before whose 
almost superhuman power, time and place seem to vanish 
and disappear, as if it had become with him <w an everlasting 
Now and Here " ? or, as if it had pleased the Divine 
Majesty to send another Messiah upon our earth, knowing 
all past, all present, and all future, to be leader, guide, 
and second Saviour of mankind ? What greater miracle 
need be ! 

Being translated into German, Shakespeare became " the 
father of German literature," says Emerson. But it so 
happens, that the parts of him, which have been more 
especially quoted as the basis of this German appreciation, 
are precisely those, which have been least noticed at home, 
or if seen, appreciated on quite other grounds. Those trans- 
parent characters, which, said Goethe, are u like watches 
with crystalline plates and cases," where the whole frame 
and order of discovery are placed, as it were sub oculos, 
under the very eye, and those most pregnant passages, 
which are written, like the Faust, or the Meister, with a 
double aspect, whether because it was then dangerous to 
write otherwise, or because the highest art made such 
writing necessary and proper, being the highest wisdom as 
well as that true poetry which requires the science of 
sciences and " the purest of all study for knowing it," 
making these plays magic mirrors like " the universal 
world " itself, in which any looker may see as much as he 
is able to see and no more, have passed in the general 
mind for little more than ingenious poetical conceptions, 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 597 

powerful strokes of stage eloquence, or merely fanciful 
turns of expression ; or if, sometimes, anything deeper may 
have been half discovered in them, some suspected smack 
of infidelity may have thrown the trammelled reader, all of 
a sudden, into a grim silence — a sort of moody astonish- 
ment, — very much as if he had accidentally laid his hand 
upon an electric eel ; — as if a true man should fear to be 
infidel to anything but God and the eternal truth of things, 
or as if more credence were due to a traditional mythology 
of the Egyptianized, or the Grecianized, Hebrews than to 
the best teachings of the wisest living men and the most en- 
lightened philosophy. It has been said, that the " Hamlet * 
was not discovered to be anything wonderful till within the 
Nineteenth Century. In truth, these new wonders of 
Shakespeare are precisely the parts, qualities, and charac- 
teristics of him, wherein the higher philosophy of Bacon is 
displayed, and which are to be understood and compre- 
hended in their full meaning and drift by those only, who 
stand upon the same high cliff and platform whereon he 
stood alone of all his contemporaries, that topmost height 
and narrow strait, " where one but goes abreast " in an age, 
and almost without an English rival down to our time. 
German scholars, as well as some later English, by the 
help of this same higher philosophy, in the new Kantian 
instauration of it, have been enabled to ascend to this 
elevated platform ; and being there, they discover the 
transcendent genius of Shakespeare in the philosophy, 
culture, science, and true art, which belonged only to Bacon. 
And therein and thereby is it further proven, that this 
" our Shakespeare " was no other than Francis Bacon him- 
self; and William Shakespeare ceases to be that "uupar- 
elleled mortal" he has been taken for, that title being 
justly transferred to the man to whom it more properly 
pertains. So, for the most part, in all times, has the phi- 
losopher been robbed of his glory. We worship in Jesus 
what belongs to Plato ; in Shakespeare, what belongs to 



598 PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

Bacon ; and in many others, what belongs to the real phi- 
losopher, the actual teacher, the true saviour, and to Phi- 
losophy Herself. 

All that gives peculiarity and preeminence to these plays 
is to be found in Bacon ; vast comprehension, the profound- 
est philosophic depth, the subtle discrimination of differences 
and resemblances, matured wisdom, vigor and splendor 
of imagination, accurate observation of nature, extensive 
knowledge of men and manners, the mighty genius and 
the boundless wit, the brevity of expression and pregnant 
weight of matter, a fine aesthetic appreciation of the beauti- 
ful, the classical scholarship, familiarity with law, courts, 
and legal proceedings, with the metaphysic of jurisprudence, 
with statesmen and princes, ladies and courtiers, and that 
proper sense (which belonged to the age) of the dignity, 
sovereign duties, power and honor of the throne and king, 
the sovereign power in the State ; — all this, and more than 
can be named, belongs to both writings, and therefore to 
one author. Here was a man that could be a Shakespeare. 
Coleridge, Schlegel, Goethe, Jean Paul Richter, Carlyle, 
Emerson, Delia Bacon, Gervinus, and, doubtless, many 
more, clearly saw that the real Shakespeare must have 
been such a man, in spite of all the biographies. " Ask 
your own hearts," says Coleridge, " ask your own common 
sense, to conceive the possibility of this man being . . . the 
anomalous, the wild, the irregular genius of our daily crit- 
icism ! What ! are we to have miracles in sport ? Or, I 
speak reverently, does God choose idiots by whom to con- 
vey divine truths to man?" 2 And yet, even Coleridge failed 
to discover, that " the morning star, the guide, the pioneer 
of true philosophy," was not William Shakespeare, but 
Francis Bacon. 

The last and most conclusive proof of all is that general, 
inwrought, and all-pervading identity, which is to be found 
in these writings, when carefully studied, and which, when 
1 Notes on Shakespeare, Works, IV. 56. 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 599 

it is looked for and seen, is appreciated and convinces, like 
the character of a handwriting, by an indescribable genuine- 
ness and an irresistible force of evidence. In the words 
of A. W. Schlegel, speaking of Shakespeare, u On all the 
stamp of his mighty spirit is impressed," x The distin- 
guishing qualities of Bacon's prose style are precisely those 
which belong to the poet, namely, breadth of thought, depth 
of insight, weight of matter, brevity, force, and beauty of 
expression, brilliant metaphor, using all nature as a symbol 
of thought, and that supreme power of imagination that is 
necessary to make him an artistic creator, adding man to 
the universe ; qualities, which mark that mind only which 
God hath framed "as a mirrour or glass, capable of the 
image of the universal world." His speeches display these 
qualities. The oratorical style of that day seems to have 
been more close and weighty than in our times : it was full 
of strength and earnestness. Lord Coke spoke in thunder- 
bolts, huge, Cyclopean, tremendous : he went to the very 
pith and heart of the matter, at once, and his speech was 
always " multum in parvo." But in him, it was vigor with- 
out grace, power without splendor, or beauty, and ability 
unillumined by the divine light of genius. When we know 
that Bacon had been such a poet, it ceases to be a wonder 
that he was such an orator as he was. The mind that had 
been conceiving dramatic speeches, at this rate, during a 
period of thirty years or more, could never address a court, 
a parliament, or a king, otherwise than in the language, 
style, and imagery of poetry. In short, Bacon's prose is 
Shakespearean poetry, and Shakespeare's poetry is Baco- 
nian prose- Nor did these qualities altogether escape the 
recognition of one, who had an eye to see, an ear to hear, 
and a soul to comprehend : says Ben Jonson, " There hap- 
pened in my time one noble speaker, who was full of 
gravity in his speaking. His language, where he could 
spare, or pass by a jest, was nobly censorious. No man ever 

1 Lectures on Dram. Lit., 302. 



600 PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 

spoke more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or Suffered 
less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No mem- 
ber of his speech but consisted of his own graces. His 
hearers could not cough or look aside from him without 
loss. He commanded where he spoke and had his judges 
angry and pleased at his devotion. No man had their 
affections more in his power. The fear of every man who 
heard him was lest he should make an end." And again 
he says, " My conceit of his person was never increased 
toward him by his place or honors ; but I have and do 
reverence him for the greatness that was only proper to 
himself, in that he seemed to me ever by his works one of 
the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration that had 
been in many ages." Howell, another contemporary, says 
of him, likewise, that " he was the eloquentest that was 
born in this isle." 

What manner of man, then, have we here for our Shakes- 
peare ? A child well born, a highly educated youth, a pre- 
cocious manhood, and an all-comprehending intelligence ; 
a retired and most diligent student, who felt that he was 
" fitter by nature to hold a book than play a part," and 
whose studies, like Plato's, or Cicero's, ended only with life ; 
an original thinker always ; a curious explorer into every 
branch, and a master in nearly all parts, of human learning 
and knowledge ; a brilliant essayist, an ingenious critic, a 
scientific inventor, a subtle, bold, and all-grasping philos- 
opher ; an accurate and profound legal writer ; a leading 
orator and statesman, a counsellor of sovereigns and princes, 
a director in the affairs of nations, and, in spite of all faults, 
whether his own, or of his time, or of servants whose rise 
was his fall, " the justest Chancellor that had been in the 
five changes since Sir Nicholas Bacon's time," and though 
frail, not having " the fountain of a corrupt heart," but being 
one to whose known virtue " no accident could do harm, 
but rather help to make it manifest " ; a prodigious wit, a 
poetic imaginator, an artistic creator, an institutor of the 



PHILOSOPHER AND POET. 601 

art of arts and the science of sciences ; a seer into the 
Immortal Providence, and the veritable author of the 
Shakespeare Drama : in truth, not (as Howell supposed) a 
rare exception to the fortune of an orator, a lawyer, and a 
philosopher, as he was, but true still to " the fortune of all 
poets commonly to die beggars," dying as a philosopher 
and a poet, " poor out of a contempt of the pelf of fortune 
as also out of an excess of generosity " ; — his life, on the 
whole, and to the last, a sacrifice for the benefit of all 
science, all future ages, and all mankind. Surely, we 
may exclaim with Coleridge, not without amazement still : 
" Merciful, wonder-making Heaven ! What a man was 
this Shakespeare ! Myriad-minded, indeed, he was." 



AN APPENDIX 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS: 

INCLUDING A NOTICE OP THE RECENTLY DISCOVERED NORTH- 
UMBERLAND MSS. 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION. 



INTEODUCTION. 



I present in this appendix the more important additional 
matters which have come to my knowledge since the publi- 
cation of this work. They may not be considered as adding 
much strength to the argument, but I have deemed them to be 
of sufficient interest and value to find a place in a new 
edition. As further evidence, it is rather cumulative than 
different in kind. The most notable recent discovery, bear- 
ing upon the question of Bacon's title to this authorship, is 
that of the Northumberland MSS.. which receives a par- 
ticular notice. The volumes of Mr. Spedding's " Letters 
and Life of Francis Bacon" 1 (recently completed), which 
have appeared since 1866, have been examined with care. 
They throw much light on the personal history and char- 
acter of Lord Bacon, but have furnished no very important 
revelations touching the matter in hand here, beyond what 
I have noticed heretofore. 

For the history of the question, I am now able to say 
further that the article in Chambers's "Edinburgh Journal" 2 
of the date of August 7, 1852 (first, in modern times, that I 
am aware of) distinctly put the question, " Who wrote 
Shakespeare ? " The anonymous writer pointedly urged a 
variety of reasons why William Shakespeare could not have 
been the author of the plays, and in support of the proba- 
bility (to his own "extreme dissatisfaction" as he confesses) 
" that Shakespeare kept a poet." He did not name the per- 

1 The Letters and the Life of Francis Bacon, and all his Occasional 
Works, etc., by James Spedding, London, 1861-1874. 

1 Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, conducted by William and Robert 
Chambers, No. 449. New Series, August 7, 1852, p. 87. 



606 APPENDIX. 

son, but gave a hint that he might be one " who had written the 
Wars of the Roses" and rather significantly asked the ques- 
tion : " But if Southampton really knew him [Shakespeare] 
to be the author of the dramas, how comes it that Raleigh, 
Spenser, and even Bacon — all with genius so thoroughly 
kindred to the author of Hamlet — have all ignored his 
acquaintance ? " The anonymous article in " Putnam's Maga- 
zine" for January, 1856 (written by Miss Delia Bacon, of 
New Haven), in like manner, disputed the claim of William 
Shakespeare, and darkly hinted at Bacon (as well as Raleigh) 
without naming him, as one who might have had a hand in 
the work ; and this was followed by the publication of her 
book, 1 in 1857, in which she attributed the plays to a club 
of Elizabethan wits, among whom Raleigh took some part, 
and Bacon the larger share. But, in September, 1856, had 
appeared the " Letter to Lord Ellesmere," 2 in which William 
Henry Smith, Esq., of London, without any knowledge of 
her labors, or opinions, distinctly put the question " Was 
Lord Bacon the author of Shakespeare's Plays? " and in 
condensed form gave specific reasons for believing, not only 
that Shakespeare did not, but that Francis Bacon did, write 
the whole of the genuine canon of the plays ; adding that 
it was not his intention then " to adduce proof, but merely 
to initiate inquiry ; " and his views and proofs were pre- 
sented more at large in his " Bacon and Shakespeare," 3 in 
1857. In the preface, it appears that Mr. Smith had been 
of that opinion " for twenty years." Mr. Thomas Prewen, 
of Brickwale, Staplehurst, England, writes to James Sped- 
ding, Esq., in 1867, that he had been of the same opinion 
" for years " before he saw Mr. Smith's book. How long 

1 Philosophy of Shakespeare's Plays Unfolded, by Delia Bacon, London, 
1857. 

2 Was Lord Bacon the Author of Shakespeare's Plays? A Letter to 
Lord Ellesmere, by William Henry Smith, London, 1856. 

3 Bacon and Shakespeare: An Inquiry touching Players, Playhouses^ 
and Play-writers, in the Days of Elizabeth, by William Henry Smith, Esq. 
London, 1857. 



INTRODUCTION. 607 

Miss Bacon had entertained the same belief, I have no 
means of knowing, but it appears from her book that she 
had been engaged upon the subject for several years, and 
without .knowledge of the investigations of others. 

My attention was drawn to the subject by Miss Bacon's 
anonymous article, in January, 1856 (as stated in my pref- 
ace), and my conclusion had been mainly arrived at before 
the publication of her book ; and I have only to regret that 
I had not seen the publications of Mr. Smith, before my 
volume was printed, that I might have availed myself of 
some important particulars, w r hich had escaped my search 
as well as hers, and which have to find a place in this 
appendix. 

Thus it would seem that these several opinions were 
formed, almost entirely, upon independent researches. It is 
said that Mr. Smith's book made a convert of Lord Palmer- 
ston, and that he died in the same faith. It is very probable 
that other persons had entertained similar views. And there 
are, doubtless, now, many persons who believe the same 
thing, as well as a great many more who do not. 

An opinion may be no proof of the fact : its weight must 
depend upon the amount of thought, examination, and study 
that have been given to the subject, as well as upon the 
critical judgment and insight of the student. Simple, plain, 
and direct proofs are not to be found. The evidences we 
have are various, intricate, nice, and sometimes abstruse. 
Not many can go into original research upon such a matter ; 
nor, if they did, could it be expected that all minds would 
agree much better upon this than upon so many other great 
questions in literature, philosophy, or religion. In this matter 
of judgment, much depends upon our preconceptions of the 
nature of the question. One primary consideration un- 
doubtedly is, what sort of a man William Shakespeare really 
was ? This cannot be ajaswered from the plays, since the 
very question is, who wrote them ? The answer given by 
his external history is quite unsatisfactory ; the rest is mere 



608 APPENDIX. 

conjecture. Another is, what is the value and the character 
of the Shakespeare poetry ? This is open to study, and the 
proof is clear and certain. One who finds nothing in the 
plays that is above the capacity or acquirements of such a 
man as he finds William Shakespeare to have been, will 
have no difficulty with the problem. But one who finds 
with the best modern critics, that the contents of the plays 
are of the highest order in point of thought, learning, 
mastery of art, and language, and moral and civil wisdom, 
and in particular knowledge of law, medicine, the science of 
his time, and the ancient classics, — or say, with Emerson, 
that " the greatest mind values Shakespeare most," — and. 
at the same time, can make no more of William Shakes- 
peare than an uneducated adventurer and man of ordinary 
business, not certainly known to have written anything else 
but six several signatures, which may have been simply a 
chirograph by way of his mark, if he will not accept the 
theory of Dogberry that " reading and writing come by 
nature," must necessarily imagine some unknown and 
merely conjectural way of coming at knowledge, culture, 
and skill in art and literature, while depreciating the merit 
of the Shakespeare poetry down to some standard of criti- 
cism that would bring this feat within the bounds of possi- 
bility even for such an erratic genius as this man is supposed 
to have been ; or he must even go further and imagine a 
born poet endowed with a power of intuition and grasp of 
knowledge, both general and special, that was not merely 
extraordinary for any man of his time, however learned, but 
for such a man as we really know for William Shakespeare, 
of a quite supernatural kind ; since there is nothing like it 
that we know of in the normal order of development of 
merely human genius. No one now supposes that he must 
either believe in this kind of special inspiration, or concede 
that God has grown old. The ancient world, indeed, was 
full of it. The very gods came down on earth in human 
shape. Achilles and Minerva, Ulysses and Calypso, no less 



INTRODUCTION. 609 

than Jesus and Mary, partook of both natural human and 
supernatural divine powers and faculties. The Oriental, 
Hebrew, Greek, and Roman minds had no difficulty in 
believing in such marvellous gifts to favored mortals. But 
since our era, that canon seems to have been closed. We 
do sometimes hear of poetical inspiration, but nothing more 
seems to be understood by it, now, than a certain quality or 
degree of genius as we see it in merely human examples. 
Many, however, will still insist upon <• it, for this one man 
Shakespeare, that " he, somehow or other, without knowing 
it, was able to do what none of the rest of them, though 
knowing it all, too, perfectly well, could begin to do." 1 
But is this really true ? or if true of anybody, is it true of 
this man Shakespeare? This is our question here. Doubt- 
less Shakespeare might write to the extent of his ability or 
his art. But could he tell more than he knew ? or make 
revelations without knowing it ? Was it ever known that 
revelations, inspirations, or much human wisdom, were com- 
municated to mankind, extensively, through babes, or idiots, 
or rustics, or ignoramuses, or even through born geniuses, 
without more ? Nobody believes this. Hence the neces- 
sity (so long as William Shakespeare is taken to have been 
the author) of imagining him to have somehow found means 
of acquiring as much knowledge and culture and skill in art 
as he needed for this work. Doubtless, the real author had 
all this ; nor is it to be doubted that Francis Bacon was 
gifted with all the genius which these works display. It 
may be true enough that nobody else, though knowing as 
much, could begin to do what he did, any more than some 
other than Milton, or Scott, could have done what they 
did ; but it is certainly remarkable that the moment we turn, 
from the man Shakespeare to the plays, he seems to have 
become somebody else, or almost anybody but himself. An. 
illusory mistake as to the man breeds a kind of necessity of 
attributing too much to the genius, and too little to knowl- 

1 Among My Books, by J. R. Lowell, A. M., Boston, 1874, p. 201. 
39' 



610 APPENDIX. 

edge, culture, and arts acquired : it tends to blind the eyes 
to the real character and true merits of the plays them- 
selves, and to inculcate a false philosophy of the human 
mind. 

What then is this inborn genius ? It must be a hard 
thing to define, there are so many opinions about it. 
Buffon defined it as u the aptitude for patience." Dr. 
Abbot of Exeter said it was " application." Thomas 
Carlyle thinks it " a certain transcendent faculty of taking 
pains." This does not help much, since there are all 
degrees of the faculty, from the wonderful man Carlyle 
himself down to the Papua, where it is extremely small. 
It is easy to say this man has it, and that man has it not, 
but not so easy to say how much, or of what sort, or what it 
is. When a Mozart is born with a hereditary musical brain 
and temperament and muscular adaptation, that take to 
music at six years of age as a bird to song, and he is trained 
from infancy up in all the arts of instrumental manipulation, 
and his studies are carried over the whole field of musical 
composition, and with a certain enthusiastic exuberance of 
life and soul, we are prepared not to be so greatly surprised 
that a rich endowment of genius, with such efforts and such 
aids and reinforcements of power, at length carries the art 
and science of music, and the beauties of melody and har- 
mony, a long stride beyond all before him, and even half an 
age beyond all his contemporaries. Peculiar aptitudes and 
degrees of power there are, no doubt, which, with a life of 
drill and infinite pains, in persons possessing intellect, or 
some peculiar qualities, physical and mental, may carry 
the individual to the highest mark in any given direction ; 
as Raphael in painting, Mozart or Beethoven in music, 
Vanderbilt in money -making, Signor Blitz in legerdemain, 
Hegel in metaphysics, Coke in law, and if not Bacon, why 
then Milton or Goethe in poetry ; — men that we know 
were thoroughly trained from youth upward in all the skill 
and practice pertaining to their arts, or were life-long stu- 



INTRODUCTION. 611 

dents of all knowledge, and accomplished in all the learning 
of their times. It is of the nature of men to pursue what 
they like best, and they are apt to like best what they are 
most successful in doing. A friend of mine once observed 
that if a man found he could climb a greased pole higher 
than anybody else, he would be always climbing greased 
poles ; and in the most comprehensive definition I am not 
sure he would not be entitled to be called a man of genius. 
We may admit that William Shakespeare might have been 
born with as much genius as Francis Bacon, but the ques- 
tion is, was he so bom ? And if he were, how, in this 
instance, could that solve the difficulty here, or much help 
the matter ? We have the means of knowing with what 
genius Francis Bacon was born, and how he raised his gifts 
to the highest power, and made them equal to the writing 
of a whole Shakespeare drama ; and upon all the knowledge 
we possess of William Shakespeare, it would seem to be 
clear that he never raised his much above the faculty of a 
prosperous manager. 

We see in Homer what he thought and knew about this 
universe and human affairs in it, as well as the compass of 
his art ; and so of Virgil, Dante, Milton, Goethe, and 
except Homer (veiled as he is in the mists of antiquity), we 
know something of what kind of men these were, and what 
lives they led. And in Marston, Hey wood, Ben Jonson, 
Burns, Tom Taylor, or whatsoever other, we see what they 
knew and thought of the same, and how they expressed it. 
So of the author of Shakespeare. But the difference be- 
tween any two of these is quite considerable, and between 
Burns (Tom Taylor I omit, lest I should do him injustice, 
not knowing anything about him), or even Ben Jonson, and 
the author of Shakespeare, it is certainly immense and im- 
measurable, or as the world's volume to the Westminster 
catechism, or " our Britain to a swan's nest." But it is 
chiefly by his range in the world of thought and knowledge, 
his command of language as the symbol of thought, and his 



612 APPENDIX. 

skill in art, that we may identify and distinguish the par- 
ticular writer. The greatest range (as 1^ observe) is not 
reached by intuition, or genius, or inspiration, alone, natural 
or supernatural, but by the superaddition to these of disci- 
plines, virtues, studies, efforts, and labors, which it would be 
quite impossible to specify. 

I have not yet discovered any one authentic fact which would 
necessitate the inference that William Shakespeare was the 
author of this poetry. The further facts of a historical kind, 
now presented, while strongly pointing to Francis Bacon as 
the author, are not at all conclusive. Indeed, the extrinsic 
circumstances all together, though powerfully suggestive and 
convincing, cannot be said to be absolutely conclusive of the 
matter. The strongest evidence lies in the comparison of 
the writings, and the demonstration (as I conceive) must 
rest, at last, and chiefly, upon the essential identity, individu- 
ality, and oneness of the writer of this poetry and of Bacon's 
works, as exhibited in a thorough critical comparison of the 
writings themselves. But of course where this evidence 
fails to convince, or carries no weight at all, or even seems 
to prove a difference rather than an identity, there is an end 
of the argument. Nevertheless, it is my belief that any one 
who will take the trouble to make that comparison, in an 
adequate manner, will not fail to be convinced of that 
identity, and that in truth Bacon wrote Shakespeare. 

There is so much point in the following letters, and the 
matter is of such value, that I venture to introduce them 
here, though, perhaps, not intended for publication. I have 
reason to believe the writers will not complain, and 1 flatter 
myself that the reader will not. 

[Me. Speddlng to Mr. Holmes.] 
Dear Sir : I have read your book on the Authorship of 
Shakespeare faithfully to the end; but if my report of the 
result is to be equally faithful, I must declare myself not only 
unconvinced, but undisturbed. To ask me to believe that the 
man who was accepted by all the people of his own time, to many 



CORRESPONDENCE. 613 

of whom he was personally known as the undoubted author of 
the best plays then going, was not the author of them, is like 
asking me to believe that Charles Dickens was not the author of 
" Pickwick." To ask me to believe that a man who was famous 
for a variety of other accomplishments, whose life was divided 
between public business, the practice of a laborious profession, 
and private study of the art of investigating the material laws of 
nature, — a man of large acquaintance, of note from early man- 
hood, and one of the busiest men of his time, but who was never 
suspected of wasting time in writing poetry, and is not known to 
have written a single blank verse in all his life. 1 — that this 
man was the author of those plays, that is to say, of fourteen 
comedies, ten historical dramas, and eleven tragedies, exhibiting 
the greatest (and the greatest variety of) excellence that has 
been attained in that kind of composition. — is like asking me to 
believe that Lord Brougham was the author, not only of Dickens ? s 
works, but of Thackeray's, and of Tennyson's besides. That the 
author of " Pickwick " was Charles Dickens. I know upon no better 
authority than that on which I know that the author of ,; Hamlet " 
was a man called William Shakespeare. And in what respect is 
the one more difficult to believe than the other ? A boy born and 
bred like Charles Dickens was as unlikely a priori to become fam- 
ous over Europe and America for a never-ending-series of original 
stories, as a boy born and bred like William Shakespeare to 
become the author of the most wonderful series of dramas in the 
world. It is true that Shakespeare's gifts were higher and 
rarer ; but the wonder in that is that any man should have pos- 
sessed them ; not that the man to whose lot they fell was the 

1 Here, I would remind the reader of that fragment of a Masque (written 
about 1594—95). which is mentioned in my book (p. 228), and of which an 
account is given in Mr. Spedding's Letters mid Lift of Bacon (Vol. I., 
p. 386-391), where Bacon's prose breaks into fourteen lines of good Shake- 
spearian blank verse ; for although the Masque has been usually attributed 
to Essex, and is not, perhaps, absolutely known to be Bacon's work, yet it 
is pretty clear from what Mr. Spedding writes concerning it that he believed 
that Bacon wrote it for Essex (and of this I have not the least doubt), for he 
says, ''If it be quite certain that it was the Earl's own composition, his 
style in things of this kind must have been so like Bacon's that I for my 
part should despair of distinguishing their several work by examination of 
the workmanship." And he clearly shows elsewhere that Bacon was in the 
habit of drafting such papers for Essex, and admits that it is proved that 
Essex's Device of Self -Love was written by Bacon — X. H. 



614 APPENDIX. 

son of a poor man called John Shakespeare and that he was 
christened William. That he was not a man otherwise known 
to the world is not at all strange. Nature's great lottery being 
open to all men alike, the chances that the supreme prize will 
be drawn by an unknown man, are as the numbers of the un- 
known to the numbers of the known, — millions to hundreds. It 
is not the famous man that becomes the great inventor: the great 
inventor becomes a famous man. Faraday was a book-binder's 
apprentice, who in binding a copy of Mrs. Marcet's " Conversa- 
tions on Chemistry " was attracted to the study, got employed as 
assistant to Sir Humphrey Davy — an assistant in so humble a 
capacity that wishing to go with him to Geneva for the purpose 
of making the acquaintance of some men of science there, he 
actually went as his servant, — and by his own genius, virtue, 
and industry, made himself the most famous man (probably) now 
living in England. Burns was a ploughman, Keats a surgeon's 
apprentice, Robert Stephenson a lad in a colliery, Newton did 
not become Newton because he was sent to Cambridge : he was 
sent to Cambridge because he was Newton, — because he had 
been endowed by nature with the singular gifts which made him 
Newton. But for the genius which nature gave them, without 
any consideration of positive advantages, what would have been 
known of any one of these ? 

If Shakespeare had no learning as a scholar or man of science, 
neither do the works attributed to him show traces of trained 
scholarship or scientific education. Given the faculties (which 
nature bestows on the poor as freely as on the rich), you will 
find that all the acquired knowledge, art, and dexterity which 
the Shakespearian plays imply, was easily attainable by a man 
who was laboring in his vocation, and had nothing else to do. 
Or, if you find it difficult to believe this of such a man as you 
assume Shakespeare to have been, try Bacon. fc Suppose Francis 
Bacon, instead of being trained as a scholar or statesman and a 
lawyer, and seeking his fortune from the patronage of the great, 
had been urned loose into the world without means or friends, 
and joined a company of players as the readiest resource for a 
livelihood : do you doubt that he would soon have tried his hand 
at writing a play — that he would have found out how to write 
better plays than were then the fashion ; that he would have 
cultivated an art which he found profitable and prosperous, — and 



CORRESPONDENCE. 615 

sought afresh for such knowledge as would help him in it ; 
diligently reading his Plutarch, his Seneca, his Holinshed, and 
all the novels and plays that came in his way ; studying life and 
conversation by all the opportunities which his position opened 
to him, and generally seeking to enrich his thought with obser- 
vation? Do not you think that Francis Bacon would have been 
capable of learning in this way everything which there is reason 
to think that the writer of the Shakespearian plays knew? 
And if Francis Bacon could, why could not William Shake- 
speare ? 

If, therefore, your theory involved no difficulties of its own — 
if of two names equally likely in themselves you merely proposed 
to substitute one for the other, — I should still have asked why 
I should reject the received story ? Where is the difficulty 
which makes it hard to believe? I see none. That which is 
extraordinary in the case — and whatever is extraordinary is in 
some degree improbable a priori : it is something that you would 
not have expected, — is that any man should have possessed such 
a combination of faculties as must have met in the author of those 
plays. But that is a difficulty which cannot be avoided. There 
must have been somebody in whom the requisite combination of 
faculties did meet, for there the plays are. And by supposing 
that this somebody was a man who at the same time possessed 
a combination of other faculties, themselves sufficient to make 
him an extraordinary man, too, instead of diminishing the won- 
der you increase it. Aristotle was an extraordinary man. Plato 
was an extraordinary man. That two men, each severally so 
extraordinary, should have been living at the same time in the 
same country, was an extraordinary thing, But does it diminish 
the wonder to suppose the two to be one ? So 1 say of Bacon 
and Shakespeare. That a human being possessed of the facul- 
ties necessary to make a Shakespeare should exist, is extraordi- 
nary. That a human being possessed of the faculties necessary 
to make a Bacon should exist, is extraordinary. That two such 
human beings should have been living in London, at the same 
time. w T as more extraordinary still. But that one man should 
have existed possessing the faculties necessary to make both, 
would have been the most extraordinary thing of all. You will 
not deny that tradition goes for something ; that in the absence 
of any reason for doubting it the concurrent and undisputed 



616 APPENDIX. 

testimony to a fact of all who had the best means of knowing it 
is a reason for believing it, or at least for thinking it more prob- 
able than any other given fact which is irreconcilable with it, 
and which is not so supported. On this ground alone, without 
inquiring further, I believe that the author of the plays published 
in 1623 was a man called William Shakespeare. It was believed 
by those who had the best means of knowing, and I know nothing 
which should lead me to doubt it. Those reasons for doubting it 
which you suggest seem all to rest on a latent assumption that 
William Shakespeare could not have possessed any remarkable 
faculties, a fact which would no doubt be conclusive if it were 
^established. But what should make me think so ? It was not 
the opinion of anybody who was acquainted with him, so far as 
we know ; and why was a man of that name less likely than 
another to possess remarkable faculties ? 

With one who finds no difficulty in accepting the simple 
story as it has come down to us, you will hardly expect that the 
other considerations which you urge should have much weight. 
Between writers nourished in a common literature, addressing 
popular audiences in a common language, and surrounded by a 
common atmosphere of knowledge and opinion, resemblances 
both in thought and expression are inevitable. But to me, I 
confess, the resemblances between Shakespeare and Bacon are 
much less striking than the differences. Strange as it seems that 
two such minds, both so vocal, should have existed within each 
other's hearing without mutually affecting each other, I find so 
few traces of any influence exercised by Shakespeare on Bacon, 
that I have great doubts whether Bacon knew any more about 
him than Gladstone (probably) knows about Tom Taylor (in his 
dramatic capacity). Shakespeare may have derived a good 
deal from Bacon: he had no doubt read the " Advancement of 
Learning ' ? and the first edition of the "Essays" ; and most 
likely had frequently heard him speak in the courts and the 
Star Chamber. But among all the parallelisms which you have 
collected with so much industry to prove the identity of the 
writers, I have not observed one in which I should not myself 
have inferred from the difference of style a difference of hand. 
Great writers, especially being contemporary, have many feat- 
ures in common; but if they are really great writers, they write 
naturally, and nature is always individual. I doubt whether 



CORRESPONDENCE. 617 

there are five lines together to be found in Bacon which could 
be mistaken for Shakespeare, or five lines in Shakespeare which 
could be mistaken for Bacon by one who was familiar with the 
several styles and practised in such observation. I was myself 
well read in Shakespeare before I began with Bacon, and I have 
been forced to cultivate to a high degree what skill I have in 
distinguishing Bacon's style ; because in sifting the genuine 
from the spurious I had commonly nothing but the style to guide 
me; and to me if it were proved that any one of the plays at- 
tributed to Shakespeare was really written by Bacon, not the 
least extraordinary thing about it would be the power which it 
showed in him of laying aside his individual peculiarities and 
assuming those of a different man. 

But you will ask me what I say of "Bichard II.," of which you 
contend that Bacon has by implication avowed himself the real 
author. I say simply that your inference is founded upon a mis- 
construction of a relative pronoun. " About the same time I 
remember an answer of mine in a matter which had some affinity 
with my Lord's cause, icliicli though it grew from me went after 
about in others' names." I say that " which " relates not to the 
" matter " but to the " answer." You make it appear to relate 
to the " matter " (p. 251, 1. 8), only by inserting " and," which 
is not in the original. If so, there is an end of your whole super- 
structure. When the Queen asked Bacon whether there was not 
treason in Dr. Hay ward's '* History of the First Year of Henry 
IV.," he parried the question by an evasive answer, which was 
quoted afterwards and ascribed in conversation to other people, 
but was really his own. If it were possible to believe that the 
M matter " in question was the play of " Richard II.,". the only 
inference that could be drawn as to the authorship would be that 
the ostensible author was a doctor. But for my part I can see 
nothing in it but a reference to Dr. Hayward's historical tract. 

For these reasons I am obliged to decline all acquiescence in 
your supposition. I do not see that a prima facie case for ques- 
tioning Shakespeare's title to the plays which have always been 
attributed to him is made out; and if you had fixed upon any- 
body else rather than Bacon as the true author, anybody of 
whom I knew nothing, I should have been scarcely less incredu- 
lous. But if there were any reason for supposing that the real 
author teas somebody else, I think I am in a condition to say that 



618 APPENDIX. 

whoever it was, it was not Francis Bacon. The difficulties which 
such a supposition would involve would be almost innumerable 
and altogether insurmountable. But if what I have already said 
does not excuse me from saving more, I fear that whatever I 
might say more would have no better fate, but be equally in- 
effectual. 

I ought perhaps to apologize for speaking with such con- 
fidence on the question of style, in a matter where my judgment 
is opposed to yours. But you must remember that style is like 
handwriting, not easy to recognize at first, but unmistakable 
when you are familiar enough with it. When some twenty-five 
years ago I began the task of collating the printed copies with 
the manuscripts, and plunged into a volume of miscellaneous 
letters written in the beginning of the seventeenth century, I 
could scarcely distinguish one hand from another, and it was 
some time before I discovered which was Bacon's own. But after 
a little of the close and continuous attention which collation 
and copying involve, I began to feel as if I could know it with 
certainty through all its varieties, from the stateliest Italian to 
the most careless and sprawling black-letter, and almost down to 
a semicolon; and I am convinced that I could produce examples 
in which the most expert palaeographers and fac-similists would 
at the first view pronounce two hands different, and yet find on 
examination that they Avere the same. And so it is with a man's 
manner of expressing himself. The unconscious . gestures of 
the style, scarcely discoverable at first, are scarcely mistakable 
after. The time may have been, I do not know, when I could 
have believed the style of " Hamlet " and the " Advancement 
of Learning ' ' to be the style of the same man ; and the time 
may yet come when you will yourself wonder that you did not 
perceive the difference. . . . .... 

Again thanking you for your book, in which though I am so 
far from assenting to your conclusion, I cannot sufficiently admire 
the diligence and ingenuity with which you have collected and 
brought together your evidence. 

bO Wlstbourxe Terrace, London, Feb. 15, 1867. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 619 



[Mr. Holmes to Me. Spedding.] 

St. Louis, March 13, 1867. 

Dear Sir, — I Lave to acknowledge, with much satisfaction, 
the receipt of your very interesting letter of the 15th ult., report- 
ing the result of your reading of my book on the " Authorship 
of Shakespeare." I do not allow myself to feel at all disap- 
pointed that you have to declare yourself not only "unconvinced, 
but undisturbed." I was pretty well aware that the question 
could not have escaped your consideration, and had inferred 
that your judgment was probably adverse to the theory, and I 
could hardly expect my argument would be likely to prevail with 
you. But I am exceedingly gratified that you have had the 
patience to give it a hearing, and have taken the pains to give 
your views and suggestions (which are stated with great force), 
and the more especially as you have pointed out one miscon- 
struction (which I readily admit to be an error), — that of mak- 
ing the relative pronoun which refer to the " matter " instead of 
the " answer." The other construction had not occurred to me 
(and I scarcely know how I overlooked it) ; but, upon reexam- 
ination, I am satisfied you are right. I see that the anecdote 
related below (in which the answer consisted) is the leading 
subject of the whole paragraph, and so, that the " answer " must 
be the leading subject of the sentence, and not the " matter " 
as I had supposed. 

But I cannot accede to the whole consequence which you think 
follows, namely, that " there is an end of the whole superstruc- 
ture." It certainly cuts away one strong point, one clinching 
nail (as it were) in that argument, and reduces it to the ground 
of an implied admission only. The implied admission is, I admit, 
somewhat far-fetched and subtle, but still has a ground, all 
things considered, of no insignificant weight to my mind ; par- 
ticularly in connection with the other expression, " and it would 
be said I gave in evidence mine own ta J es," and with the admonition 
which he did not like. There is a covert allusion here to some- 
thing which I take to have been that play. I have discovered 
nothing else to which it can refer. I can see that it is not im- 
possible that these " mine own tales " may have been something 
else ; and if the whole argument founded on this play of 
" Richard II.," or the whole question of Bacon's authorship of 



G20 APPENDIX. 

the plays, rested on this alone, I should not venture to rely 
much upon it. 

I may say in general that my conviction rests, not so much 
upon the historical part as upon the comparison of the two writ- 
ings throughout, and on what I think I discover to be their iden- 
tities in all material respects in view of the question. The 
historical facts only clear the way, and the way being so cleared, 
as it appears to me, and there being no " insurmountable " diffi- 
culties in the way that are known to me, the resemblances and 
identities which I find in this play and Bacon's writings (not 
omitting the allusion to Tacitus), I must say, are such to my 
mind that I find it impossible to doubt that Bacon was the author 
of both, especially when considered with all the rest. 

I have written to the publishers to make a correction of that 
error if another edition of the work is to be issued. I find it can 
be done (so far as necessary to obviate the effect of that error) 
by changing a few words in a few lines. 1 

The other views which you present I have read with the utmost 
attention, as they are certainly deserving of profound considera- 
tion; but nearly all those topics have been the subject of study 
and reflection with me heretofore. In some of your observations 
I entirely concur, while upon others and upon the conclusions 
you would draw from them, our opinions are so widely different, 
that I should be wanting in a proper respect for your independ- 
ent judgment, if I persisted in a re-argumentation upon them. 

As you may be willing to hear, briefly, how they strike me, I 
will merely observe, that the remarks upon native genius, 
Dickens and " Pickwick," Brougham and Tennyson, are very 
good, but they do not strike me as exactly in point. As to what 
is to be found in the plays, it is plain to me that I find, or seem 
to find, a great deal more in them than you would allow. Your 
supposition of a substitution of the man Bacon is good, but 
would not change the nature of the problem with me. In what 
you say of extraordinary men I readily agree. My difficulty is 
not with the remarkable "faculties," but with the remarkable 
acquisitions and the peculiar identity of the faculties. With 
your views of the problem, I see that the parallelisms and 
resemblances would have much less weight, but still they are 
such to me, that, even on your basis, I could not get over them. 

1 It was corrected in the second edition. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 621 

On the difference of individual peculiarities (strange as it may 
seem), my opinion must still remain diametrically the opposite of 
yours, until I get some new point of view. On the practice re- 
quired for the certain recognition of Bacon's handwriting and 
style in all papers, I willingly concede that your skill in that 
must exceed 

— " The lists of all advice 
My strength can give you," 

or that of any person living. I believe. But all these considera- 
tions together, though carrvins: much weight, do not reach the 
foundations of my conviction. 

I may say further for myself only, that in the course of my 
comparisons, I seemed to become so familiar with the habitual 
ideas, words, and singular peculiarities of the author, that I 
could not read a page of either, without thinking I saw his iden- 
tity, and cannot now. I have taken an especial delight in trac- 
ing these peculiarities and identities. The outline of my essay 
was framed early in the study, and then filled up and expanded 
from year to year, as the work progressed, and not the least 
conclusively convincing and wonderful thing with me was, that 
every new fact, date, or parallelism, dropped right into its place 
and time as if made to fit, no jarring discrepancy turning up 
anywhere ; and the dates and facts were such as to exclude all 
possibility of borrowing in the particular instances, and the 
whole array such as seemed to me to defy explanation on the 
score of contemporary usage, such mutual influence as might be 
possible, and the common stock of knowledge and ideas of the 
time. 

When I got your " Letters and Life of Bacon," and read that 
fragment of a Masque, having the dates of all the plays in my 
mind, I felt quite sure at once in which I should find that same 
matter, if it appeared anywhere (as I expected it would), and 
went, first, straight to the "Midsummer Xight's Dream," and 
there came upon it, in the second act, so palpably and unmis- 
takably to my mind, that I think nothing less than a miracle 
could shake my belief in it, — there and nowhere else ; and so 
in many other instances of like kind. 

Reading the other day in Mr. David Masson's " Eecent British 
Philosophy " (p. 234), about spirit in nature, and turning to the 
"Hamlet" (Act L, sc. 5), which he cites, I noticed (what 



622 APPENDIX. 

had escaped me before) the words underscored in these 
lines : — 

" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamed of in our philosophy." 

Instantly I remembered what was printed on p. 498 of my book, 
where you will see how Bacon uses these same words in a pecu- 
liar sen«e in a similar connection in two places. And I believe 
the same man put them into the "Hamlet," where I find the 
same philosophy blazing out, and the ghost so unceremoniously 
including himself in the phenomena of Nature. I am quite in- 
credulous of ghosts ; but nothing short of Bacon's ghost, rising 
up to say No ! could make me doubt it, I think. So, too, in 
these lines : — 

" Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my Lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff." 

which, if I had specially noted before, I should have cited on p. 
498 of my book, for that this is that same cliff, again, I have not 
the least doubt. 

I will trouble you with but one more, and that is (on p. 491 of 
my book, where I have given your very elegant translation of 
the two lines of Latin poetry quoted by Bacon) * that I think we 
have Bacon's own translation of them in the " Hamlet " (Act I., 
sc. 1), thus : — 

" Ham. Now, pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'ertop old Pelion, and the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. ..... 

And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us, till our ground, 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
Make Ossa like a wart." 

A few things of this kind might possibly be got over in the 
way you suggest, but when I find them everywhere and almost 
innumerable, amounting to absolute identity of authorship, if 
there ever was any individual identity and character in different 
writings of the same author, the conclusion, T confess, is to me 
irresistible. 

1" "Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossam, 

Scilicet atque Ossae frondosum involvere Olympum." 

" Mountain on mountain thrice they strove to heap, 
Olympus, Ossa, piled on Pelion's steep." 



CORRESPONDENCE. 623 

Some of our American critics have dwelt on the differences, 
too. That objection had not occurred to me as likely to be 
made, but I had not wondered at the criticism. The difference 
of style, in the sense of the outward form or structure, in 
Bacon's several works, must be better known to you than to 
almost anybody else : but it appears to me to be exceedingly 
various, very much as in Milton's prose works ; and in this 
respect, merely, I can hardly suppose you would deny that a still 
wider difference should be looked for in so different a kind of 
composition as a comedy or tragedy in high poetic vein and in 
blank verse. I find the identities underneath this outward husk, 
— in the thought, diction, and distinguishing peculiarities of the 
writer's mind and habit, rather than in what is commonly called 
style. As in Milton, so in Bacon, in the most long-winded, 
swift-rolling, gushing, surging, meandering, tumbling periods, 
warped into something of the cramped and twisted inter-depend- 
ence of a whole page of blank verse, strung on one logical string, 
no less than in other works, in short periods and pithy, weighty 
sentences, trimmed to the nicety of a syllable, I think I am able 
to recognize the same mind and master, the same out-flashing 
pearls and glittering diamonds and individual earmarks, and 
the same elephantine sweep of intellect that can wrench an oak 
or pick up a pin; and I must say that to me the author of " Para- 
dise Lost " is not more distinctly visible in Milton's prose works 
than is the author of these plays in the writings of Bacon. 

But I am vexing you with more reiteration, or as the lawyers 
say, " arguing the case after it is decided." 

Though not near so incredulous as you appear to be, I assure 
you I have learned not to be quite certain of anything in this 
world, unless it were something like the necessary and funda- 
mental laws of nature and reason ; and I will not say that mis- 
take is impossible with me here ; but until I get some new light 
(which I never expect to see, but may), — until some long 
buried Hermione, for instance, the fixture of whose eye 

— " has motion in't 
As we are mock'd with art," 

shall step down alive out of some old picture frame to say No ! 
you may say of me as did Camillo of King Leontes in the 
" Winters Tale" : — 

11 You may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon. 



624 APPENDIX. 

As or by oath remove, or counsel shake, 
The fabric of his folly ; whose foundation 
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
The standing of his body." 



[Me. Speddixg to Mr. Smith.] 

My dear Sir, — When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, 
I said that if you made any converts I should like to know their 
names. Oddly enough it was only ten days before the date of 
your note that I received news of one myself, but not knowing 
what had become of you, I was unable to forward the intelli- 
gence. Mr. Thomas Prewen (whose greatgrandfather, Thomas 
Prewen of Brickwale, M. P., and nephew of Archbishop Prewen 
of York, married for a third wife Jane Cook, whose mother was 
relict of George Herbert the poet, and her father Sir Roger 
Cook of Highram Court, son of Sir William Cook of Highram 
Court, was first cousin of Bacon) — Mr. Thomas Prewen, writing 
to me on the 5th of April last, about a picture of Bacon which 
he has. ends with these words : u If you by accident have not 
seen a small two-shilling volume by W. H. Smith, entitled 
4 Bacon and Shakespeare,' you should get it. I confess my- 
self an entire convert to his opinion, that Bacon and not 
Shakespeare wrote those wonderful plays. I was delighted 
to see that Lord Palmerston was equally a convert to that 
opinion. I have held it for years." ..... 

I cannot deny that Judge Holmes is an important ally if only 
for his industry and his perseverance, and as you may like to 
know more about him I enclose the correspondence which has 
passed between us on the subject. You will see that he had 
anticipated you in sending his book to me (though not I think in 
anything that is very material to the argument), and my answer 
will do for both. When you have done with the letters, I shall 
be glad if you will return them to me as I have no other copies, 
and if converts accumulate at this rate and address themselves 
to me, I may want them for other similar occasions. 

You will see that I am incorrigible ; but I am not the less grate- 
ful for your present, which is certainly a very curious piece of 
work. Could you not make out (by the way) that Bacon wrote 
Ben Jonson's and Beaumont and Fletcher's plays as well ? I will 
be bound they contain as many parallelisms, — and the date of 



CORRESPONDENCE. 625 

Bacon's death need not interfere, — for they may have kept 
his manuscripts and brought them out as they were wanted, as 
long after his death as you please. Works that were written 
before he was born must be left to the reputed authors, but I am 
afraid a diligent prosecution for parallel passages would strip him 
of a good many feathers ; for in that case every parallelism 
must be an appropriation of something not his own. 
Yours truly, etc. 
London, April 20, 1867. 

[Mr. Smith to Mr. Speddixg.] 

Highgate N., April 22, 1867. 

My dear Sir, — I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your en- 
closure of letters. I do it thus promptly that you may know 
where they are, should you desire to fulminate them against any 
fresh "perverts " to this American heresy. I have now only 
two observations to make. In your letter to Judge Holmes, you 
say, " The reasons for doubting which you suggest seem all to 
rest on a latent assumption that William Shakespeare could not 
have possessed any remarkable faculties, — a fact which would no 
doubt settle the question if it could be established. But what 
should make me think so ? " If the question were addressed to 
me, I should answer, " My belief that William Shakespeare of 
Stratford-upon-Avon could neither read nor write." The only 
writings of his extant are six several signatures, clearly the sig- 
natures of a man who had simply learnt to write his name. " I 
can set to my name," quoth Sancho, " for when I was constable 
of our town I learnt to make certain letters such as are set to mark 
trusses of stuff which they said spelt my name." There is not 
the slightest pretense for presuming that Shakespeare was ever 
sent to school. 

In your letter to me, you say, " Works that were written; 
before he was born must be left to their reputed authors, but I 
am afraid a diligent prosecution of parallel passages would strip: 
him of a good many feathers ; for in that case every parallelism 
must be an appropriation of something not his own." Did you 
ever turn over the pages of Theobald's " Shakespeare"? He- 
noted the passages (and their name is legion) where the ideas 
of ancient writers are reproduced, and in some cases their words 
literally translated. I confess these plagiarisms, or rather well- 
40 



626 APPENDIX. 

ings up of literary lore, have tended to convince me that Shakes- 
peare could not, and Bacon might, have been the author. As- 
suredly, we must make room by removing Shakespeare from his 
pedestal in Poet's Corner, before we shall get you to erect 
Bacon's effigy in his place. 

I send you an original comment of mine on a trivial passage 
in the plays : — 

" Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 

" Ham. Excellent, excellent well ; you are a fishmonger." 

A fishmonger, the very nickname Cicero bestowed on the Con- 
sular Senators, when railing at their indolence and luxury. The 
coincidence is curious. 

I must be allowed to detain your letter for a short time that I 
may endeavor to answer it, but I will not trouble you with a 
lengthy reply, because as I am sure you will be " unconvinced," 
I wish you to remain " undisturbed. " I think that I should be 
more successful in an appeal to the American Bench than to the 
Anglican Bar. Thanking you for the courtesy of your com- 
munication, I remain, etc. 

[Mr. Smith to Mr. Speddixg.] 

Highgate, May 1, 1867. 

My dear Sir, — I return your enclosure of letters with many 
thanks. I have made a copy of your letter, which I thought I 
might do as you intimated that you intended to use it as a circu- 
lar. My little book which Mr. Prewen perused at a cost of thirty 
pence, I provided at a cost of thirty pounds. Having been in 
the front of the fight for a decade of years, now that the Ameri- 
can contingent has taken the field I think I may creditably 
retire to the rear. Your letter is such a model of precision, 
perspicuity, and power of expression, that I wish to have it by 
me at the time I prepare " an answer of mine " to the ' ; matter," 
which matter to my mind is not so precise and powerful as the 
" style." As " there is nothing more certain in nature than 
that it is impossible for anybody to be utterly annihilated, 
but as it was the work of the Omnipotency to make somewhat of 
nothing, so it requireth the like Omnipotency to make somewhat 
into nothing." Shakespeare's inability to read or write — my 
"swashing blow," — it is useless to remember against you, for 



CORRESPONDENCE. 627 

if I could "utterly annihilate" him, I should still doubt my 
" Omnipotency " to create a Bacon in your mind instead. Yet 
the erasure of the word seale and substitution of the word hand 
in his will seems to me strong evidence that the person who pre- 
pared the will believed, at that time, that he would not be able 
to sign his name. I know that you will ingeniously observe, that 
that might have been his belief, but the fact would better have 
been proved, if " hand " had been erased and " seale " inserted, 
and no signature added ; or that it was usual to attest a will by 
a seal ; but Shakespeare, being proud of his writing (which 
Jonson praised), and as this would probably be his last oppor- 
tunity, insisted upon exhibiting his hand ; but does the sequel 
sustain that supposition ? Bacon somewhere writes that the 
kingdom of knowledge, like the kingdom of heaven, must be 
ordered as a little child. Certainly, you are very far from the 
kingdom of the knowledge that Bacon was the author of the 
Shakespeare plays ; but if I could believe that you had enough 
of "teachableness " to take my recommendation and look into 
Theobald, I should have some little hope of you. He (appar- 
ently) was a much riper scholar than Pope, whatever their rela- 
tive reputations were, and I think he is worthy of your acquaint- 
ance. His is the only Shakespeare I read for the thirty years 
previous to my purchase of Booth's reprint of the Folio of 
1623. Judge Holmes writes that Rowe, Colman, Pope, 
Farmer, Malone, Stevens, and Knight and White found traces 
that the writer of the plays was a classical scholar, but he does 
not seem to be aware that such a person as Theobald ever ex- 
isted. The object of this letter is, to try and induce you to 
believe that Shakespeare was an illiterate man, and the author 
of the Shakespeare plays, etc., one whom reading had made " a 
full man." 

I should be glad if you would allow me to make a further 
communication, at a future time, when I will be as concise as 
possible, which is the u style " I strive to cultivate. 

I take pleasure in being permitted to add the following 
letter from the Rev. Dr. William H. Furness of Philadel- 
phia, whom (though personally a stranger to me) I have 
been accustomed to regard as one of the first scholars and 
thinkers in America : — 



628 APPENDIX. 

N. Holmes, Esq., *— Although a stranger, sir, I beg the 
privilege of expressing to you my very hearty thanks for the 
" Authorship of Shakespeare," which I am reading with all the 
interest you could desire. 

I am one of the many ? who have never been able to bring 
the life of William Shakespeare and the plays of Shakespeare 
within a planetary space of each other. Are there any two 
things in the world more incongruous? Had the plays come 
down to us anonymously, had the labor of discovering the author 
been imposed upon after generations, I think we could have 
found no one of that day but F. Bacon, to whom to assign the 
crown. In this case it would have been resting now on his 
head by almost common consent. If it could be proved that 
William Shakespeare wrote the plays, it would be worth while 
to search and ascertain whether he did not write " Bacon's 
Works " also. 

The popular reluctance to entertain Miss Delia Bacons opin- 
ion and yours appears to have no better cause than the fear 
of losing a great m iracle of genius. But the miracle is far 
grander, besides being a rational miracle, when we make Shake- 
speare and Bacon one. If Shakespeare were so vast a genius, 
what could have kept Shakespeare and Bacon from a most inti- 
mate and conspicuous friendship, and would not Bacon have 
directed mankind to study Shakespeare ? 

I do not well see how there could be a more faithful and 
interesting book on the subject than yours. Miss Bacon's 
theory was disabled by the idea of a number of authors, 
Raleigh, etc. I tried hard to read her volume, but it seemed 
to me that the sweet bells were already beginning to jangle. Is 
it so? Have the Germans caught the idea yet V But there are 
no Goethes and Richters now. Pray pardon the freedom with 
which I write, and ascribe it all to your book. 

W. H. Furness. 
Philadelphia, Oct. 29, 1866. 

I conclude by saying that I have set forth these additional 
matters for the edification of those who may take an interest 
in the subject, without ambition of fame or profit in the 
adventure, but deeming them of sufficient value and impor- 
tance to find a record in print. N. Holmes. 

St. Louis, Jan. 25, 1875. 



APPEKDIX. 



As the matters of this Appendix are simply additional to 
topics which have been considered at large in the body of 
the work, they are given here under the several heads to 
which they relate, with a reference to the page of the vol- 
ume where these topics have been discussed. And in the 
cited passages, I take the liberty to italicize the words that 
are more particularly referred to. 

Page 12. His learning in the law. 

In my work, I did not deem it necessary to go at large 
into this part of the subject, and for the reason (as stated) 
that other writers had already given it a critical considera- 
tion, and demonstrated clearly enough that the author of 
the plays was learned in the law, and in fact must have 
been a lawyer. But this alone settled nothing as to the 
man. That lawyer might be William Shakespeare, or 
somebody else. Mr. Collier at once jumped to the conclu- 
sion that Shakespeare was a lawyer. Lord Campbell evi- 
dently had no doubt that the author of the plays was a 
lawyer, but he did not venture to conclude that William 
Shakespeare was. Nor did he venture to declare that he 
was not. The same thing may be said of Mr. Rushton, 
whose work l exhibits the proofs of the same- fact, with ac- 
curate knowledge and critical acumen. I need not repeat 
them here ; but I cite the following instances, with some 

1 Shakespeare a Lawyer, by William L. Rushton, London and Liverpool, 
1858. 



630 APPENDIX. 

i 

additional circumstances, as going to show, not only that 
the author of Shakespeare was a lawyer, but that that law- 
yer was Francis Bacon. 

Mr. Rushton cites the Statute 16 Rich. II., which was 
leveled against the Pope's usurpations of sovereignty in 
England, and enacted, that " If any do bring any transla- 
tion, process, sentence of excommunication, bulls, instru- 
ments, etc., within the Realm, or receive them, they shall be 
put out of the King's protection, and their lands, tenements, 
goods and chattels, forfeited to the King," and compares it 
with the speech of Suffolk in the play of " Henry VIII.' ' 
thus : — 

" Suff. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is, — 

Because all those things you have done of late 

By your power legatine within this kingdom, 

Fall into the compass of a praemunire, — 

That therefore such a writ be sued against you : 

To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 

Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 

Out of the King 1 s protection. — This is my charge." 

Act III. Sc. 2. 

It is manifest here, as Mr. Rushton thinks, that the au- 
thor of the play was exactly acquainted with the very lan- 
guage of this old statute. But was that author William 
Shakespeare ? There is no extrinsic evidence that Shake- 
speare ever studied law : what we know of him effectually 
excludes that supposition. We may, indeed, conceive it pos- 
sible that for his purpose he had hunted up the statute, or 
had heard the lawyers chaffering about it ; but the proba- 
bility of this is rather small. The whole intrinsic evidence 
on this head must be deemed conclusive, that the writer of 
the plays was an accomplished lawyer. This conclusion 
only tends to show that William Shakespeare was not the 
author of them : the question still remains, who was the 
lawyer that did write them ? 

I have heretofore noticed several instances in which 
Shakespeare might possibly have read Holinshed, North's 
" Plutarch," and other contemporary authors, in a particular 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 631 

case, while the other circumstances were such as to indicate, 
or even prove, that the transposition from these authors 
into the plays actually took place through the mind of 
Francis Bacon. It was shown, for instance, that a part of 
the circumstances mentioned in the u Timon of Athens " 
were taken directly from the untranslated Greek of Lucian, 
and not from North's " Plutarch," which the author had no 
doubt also consulted. The story of Timon's tree is told in 
Plutarch's u Life of Antony " : it is also alluded to in Bacon's 
" Essay of Goodness." Lucian makes no mention of Timon's 
tree ; but this same tree comes into the play thus : — 

" Tim, 1 have a tree which grows here in my close, 
That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
And shortly must I sell it. Tell my friends, 
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, 
From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
And hang himself." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

In this passage, it is very plain that the writer followed 
Plutarch's " Antony," which reads thus in North's transla- 
tion : — 

"Ye men of Athens, in a court-yard belcmging to my house grows a large 
Jig-tree; on which many an honest citizen has been pleased to hang him- 
self : now, as I have thoughts of building upon that spot. I .could not omit 
giving you this public notice, to the end that if any more among you have 
a mind to make the same use of my tree, they may do it speedily before it 
is destroyed." * 

It may be observed that the play takes just so many of 
the circumstances as are suitable to the idea and present 
purpose and no more ; namely, the portraying of the char- 
acter and disposition of Timon, the malignant misanthrope, 
which cannot be better exemplified than by citing the whole 
passage from the Essay : — - 

"Neither is there only a habit of goodness, directed by right reason; 
but there is in some men, even in nature, a disposition towards it ; as on 
the other side there is a natural malignity. For there be that in their 
nature do not affect the good of others. The lighter sort of malignity 

1 See Theobald's Shakespeare, V. 298, 



632 APPENDIX. 

turnetk but to a crossness, or forwardness, or aptness to oppose, or difficil- 
ness, or the like; but the deeper sort to envy and mere mischief. Such 
men in other men's calamities are, as it were, in season, and are ever on the 
loading part : not so good as the dogs that licked Lazarus' sores ; but like 
flies that are still buzzing upon anything that is raw ; misanthropy that 
make it their practice to bring men to the bough, and yet have never a tree 
for the purpose in their gardens, as Timon had. Such dispositions are the 
very errours of human nature ; and 3 r et they are the fittest timber to make 
great politiques of ; like to knee timber, that is good for ships, that are 
ordained to be tossed ; but not for building houses, that shall stand 
firm." i 

In like manner in this instance of Mr. Rushton, and par- 
ticularly in reference to the line — 

" Fall into the compass of a praemunire, — " 

and the following lines which pursue the words of the stat- 
ute, there are some circumstances which point to Francis 
Bacon as the actual writer ; for while the first three lines 
of Suffolk's speech follow the language of Holinshed closely 
enough, the last six lines do not ; indeed, there is nothing 
in Holinshed to correspond with them. This shows, con- 
clusively, that if the writer did follow Holinshed so far, he 
was obliged for the rest to draw upon his own knowledge 
( gained elsewhere ) of the law and the statutes. 

The " Henry VIII." is usually assigned to the year 
1612-13. About this time, the great controversy with the 
royal prerogative touching commendams, rege inconsulto, and 
prcemunire against the Lord Chancellor, had arisen, and 
continued until 1616. 2 Chief Justice Coke attempted to 
turn this old statute of Richard II. against Lord Chancellor 
Ellesmere. Bacon, attorney general since 1613, was the 
King's chief adviser in the matter, and drew most of the legal 
papers and among them the King's final decree in the Star 
Chamber. Bacon, of course, had made himself familiar with 
the statute, and in one of these documents used the phrase, 
" within the compass of the judges' oath" This use of the 

1 Essay on Goodness, Works (Boston), XII. 119. 

2 See Spedding's Letters and Life } V. 356. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 633 

word compass is quite frequent in Bacon's writings and in 
the plays. It appears in the " Richard II., 1 ' thus : — 

"Why should we in the compass of a pale, 
Keep law and form and due proportion, 
Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate V " — Act III. Sc. 4. 

It is highly probable that Bacon's mind was full of these 
matters of the power legatine and the statutes of prcemu- 
nire, at the date when the play of " Henry VIII." was 
written, and more than probable that he was acquainted 
with the history of Cardinal Wolsey ; and if we may sup- 
pose that he had so recently introduced them into the play, 
along with this expression, it would be easy to believe it 
had readily fallen from his pen, again, when treating of 
prcemunire against the Lord Chancellor. 

Theobald states in his note 1 that the author of the play 
followed Holinshed, and that Holinshed "gives this very 
description of the prcemunire" But he could not have 
meant to say that Holinshed gives this language of the 
statute of Richard II., for it will be seen, on examination, 
that he does not, nor even mentions the statute. He simply 
alludes to the prcemunire in these words : " In the mean- 
time, the king, being informed that all these things that the 
Cardinal had done by his power legatine, within this realm, 
were in the case of prcemunire and provision, caused his 
attorney Christopher Hales to sue out a writ of prcemunire 
against him " ; and again, " the learned counsel said plainly 
that they were all in the prcemunire " ; 2 but it is nowhere 
said " within the compass of a prcemunire." It is clear, then, 
that the writer of the play, in following the precise words 
of the statute of Richard II., and in using this expression, 
did not follow Holinshed. The phrase might not be un- 
common among lawyers. Sir Simonds D'Ewes, a barrister 
of the Middle Temple, relates that Lord Chief Justice Coke 
had been put out of his place, " upon his attempting to bring 

1 Theobald's Shakespeare, V. 66. 

2 Holinshed's Chronicles, III. 740, 765. London, 1808. 



634 APPENDIX. 

the old Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas Egerton, Lord Elles- 
mere, within the compass of a premunire" 1 And again he 
writes, " It is a dangerous thing to fall within the compass 
of a guilty conscience'' 2 And it is very probable it might 
be found that other writers of the time had used the same 
expression. As proof, therefore, that Bacon wrote the play, 
this single circumstance alone would amount to nothing ; 
but, putting all the circumstances together, they may be 
allowed to carry some weight of probability. We seem to 
have another reminiscence of like kind in Bacon's letter to 
the King, in 1615, on this same business, in which he 
writes : * I did think these greater causes would have 
Cvomen to period or pause sooner, but now they are in the 
height ; . . . . and it is no part of a skilful manner to sail 
or row against a tide, when the tide is at strongest ; " 
imagery, which may have been unconsciously repeated from 
the u Julius Caesar " : — 

" Bru. We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune, 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

And in another letter of this same year : " But my Lord 
Coke floweth according to his own tides, and not according 
to the tides of business ; " 3 and again he says, " Particular 
conspiracies have their periods, and if they be not taken in 
their time, they take vent and vanish" Here is identity with 
a difference : the reader may take his choice. 

Again, Bacon's memorial for the King's speech in the 
Star Chamber, just preceding his final decree, contains this 
account of the Court of Chancery : ~ 

" It is called the dispenser of the King's conscience, fol- 
lowing always the intention of law and justice ; not altering 

1 Autobiography and Correspondence, by J. 0. Halliwell, I. 213, 

2 Ibid., II. 390. 

8 Letters and Life, by Spedding, V. 225. 
4 Ibid., p. 165. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 635 

the law, not making that black which other courts make 
white, nor e converso ; but in this it exceeds the other 
courts, mixing mercy with justice, where other courts pro- 
ceed only according to the strict rules of law ; and where 
the rigor of the law in many cases will undo a subject, then 
the Chancery tempers the law with equity, and so mixeth 
mercy with justice as it preserves men from destruction. 
And thus (as before I told you) is the Kings throne estab^ 
lished by mercy and justice." 1 

Here, in like manner, we have repetitions of the doctrines 
and metaphors of the " Merchant of Venice " (of 1597) ; 
for he could never treat of any subject, however dry and for- 
mal, without clothing it in the same poetic language and 
broad conceptions with which his powerful imagination had 
illuminated these dramas. The merciless Shylock " craved 
the law " — 

" The penalty and forfeit of my bond," — 

to the utter destruction of the hapless merchant, Antonio. 
When Shylock came before the Duke, and stood for judg- 
ment upon the law, the Duke, like King James, exercised 
his royal prerogative to put off the cause, thus : — 

" Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this Court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned Doctor, 
Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day." 

But Doctor Bellario, happening to be sick, sent Portia to 
act the Chancellor in his stead, " dressed like a Doctor of 
Laws," having been " made acquainted with the cause in 
controversy," and " furnished with his opinion," which would 
be " bettered with his own learning," as they had " turned 
o'er many books together " ; and clearly this learned 
Doctor understood something of equity and the mixing 
of mercy with justice, if we consider this part of her 
decree : — 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, V. 383. 



636 APPENDIX. 

For. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. 

For. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
1 Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown: 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sivay ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself, 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
That in the course of justice none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy, 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea, 
Which if thou follow, this strict Court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.' 1 

So, when Bassanio tendered " twice the sum " to save the 
forfeit of the pound of flesh, Chancellor Portia still ad- 
mitted the strict rules of law, " not altering the law " : — 

a For. It must not be. There is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the State. 

li Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ; yea a Daniel ! " 

Nevertheless, continuing with Bacon's draft of the King's 
decree, " forasmuch as mercy and justice he the true sup- 
porters of our royal throne, and that it properly belongeth 
to us in our princely office to take care and provide that 
our subjects have equal and indifferent justice ministered to 
them ; and that where their case deserveth to be relieved in 
course of equity by suit in our Court of Chancery, they 
should not be abandoned and exposed to perish under the 
rigour and extremity of our laws" so the learned Portia 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 637 

proceeded to give sentence that the plaintiff should have 
" merely justice and his bond," thus : — 

" Por. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are a pound of flesh ; 
But. in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are by the laws of Venice confiscate 
Unto the State of Venice" 

And then it was Gratiano, on the other side, that ex- 
claimed, — 

" A Daniel, still say I : a second Daniel ! " 

And when the decree still further pronounced that by the 
laws of Venice, — 

" If it be prov'd against an alien 
That by direct or indirect attempts 
He seek the life of any citizen," 

he shall forfeit to the State both his life and his goods, the 
merciless Jew had no resource left but to " beg the mercy of 
the Duke " for pardon. 

It is plain throughout that the writer of this play (as well 
as Portia) knew the exact difference between law and 
equity, and that while the courts of equity never override 
or contradict the positive law, still the sovereign power in 
the State, through the courts of equity acting on general 
principles of justice and mercy, will interfere to prevent the 
strict law from being made an instrument of fraud and in- 
justice, contrary to the real intention of the law itself. 

Indeed, it is clear that Dr. Portia's knowledge extended 
even to Chancery Practice, and continued to the end of the 
piece : — 

"Por. . . Let us go in ; 
And charge us there upon int'rogatories. 
And we will answer all things faithfully." 

For the charges, interrogatories, and answer had to come in, 
though the syllables should prove somewhat refractory for 
musical verse. 



638 APPENDIX. 

Another instance may be noticed here. It has been 
mentioned that, in 1597-98, Bacon and Coke were rivals for 
the hand of the rich and beautiful Lady Hatton, and that 
Coke's great wealth and powerful influence won her against 
the eleven objections, — ten children and himself. The lady 
positively refused a public ceremony, and they were married 
at a private house, without bans or other compliances with 
the rules of the Church, and at the risk of the " greater 
excommunication" to be thundered from Lambeth. And 
when the archbishop caused suit to be instituted against all 
parties concerned, Coke put in the excuse that they were 
* ignorant of the ecclesiastical law," and made an humble 
submission ; whereupon the archiepiscopal mercy was ex- 
tended to him. 1 The " Othello " appeared somewhat later 
(1604—1611). Whether or not the writer of it remembered 
the archbishop's libel against Coke as well as the arts and 
practices which had won the lady, and was not ignorant of 
the statutes of the realm, certain it is that there was an old 
statute of 3 Hen. VIII. ; 5 Eliz. c. 5, in force in those clays, 
with which Francis Bacon would be likely to be familiar, 
and which enacted, that " It shall be felony to practise, or 
cause to be practised, conjurations, witchcraft, enchantment, 
or sorcery to get money ; or to consume any person in his 
body, members, or goods, or to provoke unlawful love," etc. 

Now Brabantio in the play did not rely upon the eccle- 
siastical law of which he too might have been ignorant, but 
evidently grounded his indictment upon this old statute : — 
" Br ah. Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her, 

Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, 
That thou hast practised on her with foul charms ; 
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or minerals 
That waken motion. .... 

I therefore apprehend and do attach thee 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant ; — 
Lay hold upon him. .... 

1 Campbell's Lives of the Chief Justices, I. 220. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 639 

She is abused, stolen from me, and corrupted, 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks ; 
For nature so preposterously to err 
(Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense), 
Sans witchcraft could not." 

"I therefore vouch again, 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjured to this effect, 
He wrought upon her." 

Othello, confronted thus with " the bloody book of law " 
(as the Duke calls it), and compelled " to read in the bitter 
letter." meets the charge with an intelligent comprehension 
of the point in issue, thus : ■ — 

11 Oth. I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, ichat charms, 
What conjuration, and what mighty mngic 
{For with such proceeding 1 am charged withal), 
I won his daughter with." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

Of course, in a community where such statutes were still 
in force, and were perhaps sometimes put in execution, any 
writer for the stage might have been sufficiently familiar 
with their provisions and terms to account for all that this 
passage contains ; and I should not undertake to say that 
"William Shakespeare could not have known as much. Nor, 
in this instance, can I put my finger upon any special par- 
ticular that would cleave to Francis Bacon rather than to 
any other lawyer of the time ; and yet there is such a sem- 
blable coherence between his life, experiences, and humor, 
and this supposition, as would seem to render it not im- 
probable. Certainly, no other lawyer of that age can be 
named whom the coat would fit as well. 

In all these passages, as elsewhere, besides those common 
legal phrases which might be known to any writer, there is 
a nice selection and fit use of words having a peculiar legal 
propriety and definite sense, not likely to be noticed by 
others than professional lawyers, such as " the words ex- 
pressly are," tt the strict court of Venice" vouch, proceeding, 
charge, recorded for a precedent, and answer to interrogate- 



640 APPENDIX. 

ries ; or if any scholar might use these particular words, 
still a novice in " the freemasonry " of the law (as Lord 
Campbell calls it), in a series of works like these, would be 
pretty sure to blunder somewhere and often, if he ventured 
to try it at all. And when jurists like Lord Campbell and 
Mr. Rushton certify to the wonderful accuracy of the legal 
ideas and expressions of this author (so numerous as they 
are), it is superfluous to add more, and next to impossible (I 
should think) for any lawyer to doubt that he was not 
William Shakespeare, but some accomplished jurist, if not 
Francis Bacon. 

Page 25. His learning in medicine. 

In the " History of Henry VII. ," giving an account of 
a pestilent fever, Bacon writes : " It seemeth not seated in 
the veins or humours, . . only a malign vapour flew to 
the heart, and seized the vital spirits ; which stirred nature 
to strive to send it forth by an extreme sweat. . . For if 
the patient were kept in an equal temper, both for clothes, 
fire, and drink moderately warm, with temperate cordials, 
whereby nature's work were neither irritated by heat nor 
turned back by cold, he commonly recovered.'' x I had not 
noticed this passage when the following lines from the 
* w Romeo and Juliet " were cited : — 

" — through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize 
Each vital spirit ; for no pulse shall keep 
His natural progress, but surcease to beat." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Here, the idea of a flowing of the blood to and fro — in- 
ward to the heart and outward to the extremes, — and of its 
being sent forth by heat and turned back by cold, is in exact 
accordance with that which Dr. Bucknill inferred from the 
plays. In the play, u a cold and drowsy humour' 9 ran through 
all the veins, and " seized each vital spirit" causing the pulse 
to surcease to beat : here in the prose, " a malign vapour 
i Works (Boston), XI. 55. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 641 

flew to the heart" and " seized the vital spirits " ; but nature 
strove to send it forth by " an extreme sweat" and commonly 
succeeded in saving the patient, if her work were " neither 
irritated by heat nor turned bach by cold" which as before 
would cause the pulse to surcease to beat. 

In 1604, Bacon uses the like imagery in a business 
paper : — 

" That the commerce between both nations be set open 
and free, so as ' the commodities and provisions of either 
may pass and flow to and fro without any stops or ob- 
structions into the veins of the whole body, for the better sus- 
tentation and comfort of all the parts ; with caution never- 
theless, that the vital nourishment be not so drawn into one 
part, as it may endanger a consumption and withering of 
the other." 1 

The same physiological science seems to pervade these 
lines from the '• Coriolanus " : — 

"Men. . . Yet to bite his lip, 
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
He was not taken well, he had not din'd. — 
The veins urifiWd, our blood is cold, and then 
We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
To give or to forgive ; but when we've stuff' d 
These pipes and these conveyances of blood 
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Than in our priest-like fasts ; therefore I'll watch him 
Till he be dieted to my request, 
And then I'll set upon him." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

In a note upon this passage, Theobald observes, that "Lord 
Bacon somewhere in his Essays makes this very remark 
concerning the seasons of solicitation." 2 And in a note 
upon the following passage from the same play : — 

" Auf . . — he'll be to Rome 
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
By sovereignty of Nature," — 

he remarks : u Shakespeare, 'tis well known, has a pecu- 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, III. 243. 

2 Theobald's Shakespeare, VI. 103. London, 1733. 

41 



642 APPENDIX. 

liarity of thinking ; and, wherever he is acquainted with 
Nature, is sure to allude to her most uncommon effects and 
operations." * 

Some think that the plays exhibit no more trained 
scholarship, or natural science, than William Shakespeare 
may have picked up for his occasions. Whoever takes it 
for granted, or is induced to believe, that he wrote them, 
must necessarily think so ; but here as everywhere, whether 
in law, medicine, science, the classics, or indeed anything 
else, he seems to have exactly the science, the knowledge, 
the habit of mind, and the training of Francis Bacon, 
neither more nor less. 

Page 57. Classical attainments. 

In the body of this work, I have barely noticed this topic, 
citing some of the critics and merely referring to a few in- 
stances. It was taken for granted that it had been suffi- 
ciently demonstrated by others that the writer of the plays 
was familiar with the classic authors. A few instances 
were mentioned to show that it was a matter of indifference 
with him whether those authors were translated, or untrans- 
lated. I was not then aware that Theobald had pointed out 
so many of the sources of this classical knowledge, by citing 
the passages in his notes. It is no wonder that these notes 
should have led Mr. W. H. Smith to doubt whether Shake- 
speare could have been the author of the plays ; the wonder 
is, that the learned editors and critics had not doubted it 
long ago. They seem to have been driven to the necessity 
of magnifying the conjectural gropings of William Shake- 
speare among translations and other English, books, or even 
of underestimating this feature of the plays. A late writer, 
in an elegant essay on Shakespeare, cites a number of these 
classicisms which I have not seen noticed elsewhere ; but he 
seems to regard them as trifles, commonplaces, or chance 
resemblances, though curious, and imagines that Shake- 
l Theobald's Shakespeare, VI. 100. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 643 

speare " may have laid hold of an edition of the Greek 
tragedians, Greece et Latine, and then with such poor wits 
as he was master of, contrived to worry some considerable 
meaning out of them." He observes that the Electra of 
Sophocles u is almost identical in its leading motive with 
Hamlet," and that " the Chorus consoles Electra for the 
supposed death of Orestes in the same commonplace way 
which Hamlet's uncle tries with him," l and cites the pas- 
sages, thus : — 

11 ©VT7TOU irityvKas TraTpd?, HAeKrpa, 0pova* 
Qirqrh<; 6' 'Opecm??" uicrTe fxr} klav crrevG, 
Hacrw yap ~qfj.lv tout' o^eiAerai tto.Qg.ivS' 

11 Your father lost a father ; 
That father lost, lost his . . . 

But to persevere 
In obstinate condolement is a cause 
Of impious stubbornness . . . 

'Tis common ; all that live must die." 

I will add the following lines from the " Julius Csesar," 
which would seem to be an echo of the same passage : — 

11 Bra. Why farewell, Portia. — We must die, Messala: 

With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

This passage may be compared with the speech on For- 
titude, in the newly discovered Masque of 1592, 2 written 
by Bacon. By the light of this speech, the Greek lines 
may admit of this version : — 

Electra, think: 
Thyself wast of a mortal father born, 
And mortal was Orestes: grieve not then 
Exceedingly : all must all things endure. 

Indeed, the like resemblances, not only with the classic 
authors, but with Bacon's writings, also, are so numerous 
throughout the plays, that they would seem to indicate that 
the writer had no need to worry his classical lore out of an 

i Among My Boohs, by James Russell Lowell, A. M., Boston, 1874, 
pp. 190, 191. 
2 See post, p. 672. 



644 APPENDIX. 

edition Greece et Latine (a very necessary supposition for 
William Shakespeare), but that his classical inspirations 
flowed abundantly out of the depths of a full strong mem- 
ory. 

Page 100. The plays cease to appear. 

The plays ceased to appear in 1613, when Bacon became 
Attorney General, and not long afterward (on the 5th of 
January, 1613-14), John Chamberlain, who appears to have 
been a collector of court news, more especially of a political 
character, but who seems to have paid no attention to 
Shakespeare or his plays, though he mentions Lord Bacon 
and Sir Tobie Matthew, writes from London to Dudley 
Carlton : — 

"I never knew any Christmas bring forth less variety of occurrences. 
The world is in motion round about us, and yet we have no news. Here 
at home, we pass on with a slow pace, and nothing fallen out worth the 
remembrance. They have plays at least every night, both holidays and 
working days, wherein they show great — , being for the most part such poor 
stuff, that instead of delight, they send the auditory away with discontent. 
Indeed, our poets' brains and inventions are grown very dry, insomuch 
that of five new plays not one pleases, and therefore they are driven to 
furbish over their old, which stand them in best stead, aud bring them 
most profit. To-morrow night there is a masque at court, but the common 
voice and preparations promise so little, that it breeds no great expecta- 
tion." i 

This is mere gossip, and does not come near enough to 
our subject to be of much value ; but it is not without some 
interest as affording a glimpse of the state of London news, 
at that day, and some confirmation of Ben Jonson's invo- 
cation : — 

" Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, 
Or influence, chide or cheer the drooping stage, 
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night, 
And despairs day, but for thy Volume's light." 

Page 127. Ifs and Ands. 

The very case of Buckingham's treason in an if is thus 
mentioned by Bacon : " And I put the Duke of Bucking- 

1 Court and Times of James /., I. 290. London, 1848. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 645 

ham's case, who said, that if the King caused him to be ar- 
rested of treason he would stab him, and the case of the 
imposturess Elizabeth Barton, that if the King Henry VIII. 
took not his toife again Catherine dowager, he should be no 
longer King." Y 

Sir Thomas More's " Life of Richard III." reads as fol- 
lows : " Do you answer me with ifs and ands, as if I charged 
them falsely ? I tell you they have done it, and thou hast 
joined with them in this villainy." Upon this passage. Mr. 
Hayward observes that the lines of Shakespeare, in the 
council scene, " are little more than a metrical version of the 
text of More.' , 2 It is to be noted, however, that, in the 
first passage cited from Lord Bacon, 3 he speaks of ifs and 
ands (as in More's " Life"), but of ifs only, in the other. 
In the lines of the play, the writer had occasion only for the 
ifs : neither the sense nor the verse required ands also. 
Bacon was doubtless familiar with More's " Life of Richard," 
and also with the law and history of treason. The circum- 
stance had certainly made an impression on his mind. It is 
possible, also, that Shakespeare may have read the u Life of 
Richard III." 

Page 129. Pictures. 

The expression, " as statues and pictures are dumb histo- 
ries, so histories are speaking pictures" is certainly a little 
peculiar, but need not surprise us, falling from his pen here 
when speaking of Queen Elizabeth, in 1605, if we may 
consider that, but a year or two before, he had made use of 
the same metaphor when speaking of Ophelia in the ki Ham- 
let " thus : — 

" King. Poor Ophelia, 

Divided from herself, and her fair judgment, 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts." — Act IV. Sc. b. 

i Letters and Life, by Speddin^. V. 119. Hen. V 111., Act I. Sc. 2. 

2 Biographical and Critical Essays, by A. Hayward, Q. C, II. 116. 
London, 1873. 

3 Ante, p. 127. 



646 APPENDIX. 

Page 130. Queen Elizabeth and King James. 

I have shown how the author of the " Henry VI II." 
sought to please King James by complimenting Elizabeth, 
and cited the passage containing these lines : — 

"All princely graces, 
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
With all the virtues that attend the good, 
Shall still be doubled on her : ... . 

And those about her 
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood." 

In his letter to the King (in 1621), Bacon addresses his 
Majesty directly in very similar terms : " I have therefore 
chosen to write the reign of King Henry the Vllth, who 
was in a sort your forerunner, and whose spirit, as well as 
his blood, is doubled upon your Majesty" * 

Page 144. John Davies and concealed poets. 

In a volume of poems by Sir John Davies (1621), is the 
following anagram to Bacon : — 

" To the Right Honorable Sir Francis Bacon, Knight, Lord High Chan- 
cellor of England. 

Anagrm. \ ^ acone - 
I Beacon. 

Thy vertuous Name and Office joyne with Fate, 

To make thee the bright Beacon of the State." 2 

And in the conclusion of the " Orchestra " (1596), Da- 
vies makes allusion to some half a dozen unnamed poets, 
whose names are conjectured by Mr. Grosart, besides one 
other (whose name he does not venture even to guess, and 
which I leave to be guessed), in these lines : 

" Yet, Astrophel might one for all suffice, 
Whose supple Muse chameleon-like doth change 
Into all forms of excellent devise." 3 

1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, VII. 303. 

2 The Fuller Worthies Library : Poems by Sir John Davies. By Alex. 
B. Grosart. VI. 23. London, 1869. 

8 Ibid., p. 230. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 647 

The dark allusion to " concealed poets," in Bacon's letter 
to Davies, is noticed also by Mr. Grosart. who makes this 
remark upon it : ,; We have noble contemporary poetry un- 
happily anonymous ; and I should not be surprised to find 
Bacon the concealed singer of some of it. May I live to 
have my expectation verified." 1 

Mr. Spedding, in his note upon this letter of Davies, ob- 
serves : " Mr. Davis was no doubt John Davies, the poet, 
author of " Xosce Teipsum," and afterwards Attorney Gen- 
eral for Ireland. The allusion to " concealed poets," I can- 
not explain. But as Bacon occasionally wrote letters and 
devices, which were to be fathered by Essex, he may have 
written verses for a similar purpose, and Davis may have 
been in the secret." 2 This is certainly a very plausible 
supposition, but a rather lame explanation ; but it may do 
for those who cannot see any evidence that Bacon was a 
concealed poet. That Davies was in the secret, would seem 
to be as certain as that Ben Jonson and Tobie Matthew 
also were. 

Page 167. Ben Jonson. 

It is certainly a remarkable fact that Ben Jonson, in his 

" Discoveries," characterizes Bacon in the same words 
which he had applied to Shakespeare in his Eulogy, pre- 
fixed to the Folio of 1623. This circumstance was first 
brought to my notice by Mr. William Henry Smith's 4 * Ba- 
con and Shakespeare," 3 after the publication of my book. 
Mr. Smith's commentary upon Ben Jonson's testimony 
must be admitted to have much force. He notices that the 
"Discoveries" were first published in 1640, three years 
after Jonson's death, and suggests that they have the appear* 
ance of ** detached thoughts and reflections/' entered in a 

1 TJie Fuller Worthies library, I. 21, London* 1870, 

2 Letters and Life, HI, 65, n. X. 

% Bacon and Shakespeare i An Inquiry touching Players, Playhouses, 
and play-writers in the days of Elizabeth, By William Henry Smith, Esq. 
To which is appended an abstract of § MSS, respecting Tobie Matthew, 
}Londop ? 1857* 



648 APPENDIX. 

commonplace book, at different times, and that the passage 
in which he speaks of Shakespeare and the actors may have 
been written before his Eulogy for the Folio of 1623, and 
possibly before his nearer intimacy with Lord Bacon had 
begun ; and he points out that the lines of the Eulogy have 
a double aspect, " and throughout exhibit a mysterious 
vagueness quite at variance with the general character of 
Ben Jonson's laudatory verses." * And it is evident from 
the context that the passage in the " Discoveries," in which 
he speaks of Lord Bacon, was written after the death of 
Bacon in 1626. Now, on the theory that Francis Bacon 
was in fact the author of the plays, and that when Ben 
Jonson wrote this Eulogy (if he did not also write the ded- 
ication and preface to the Folio, as Malone believed), he 
had become aware of that fact, this mysterious ambiguity 
would be accounted for, since the secret was still to be 
kept, and the plays printed in the Folio as what they were 
already known for to the public, namely, as " Mr. William 
Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies." There 
would be a kind of necessity that he should dwell upon the 
<; Volume's light," and avoid the man. There is certainly 
more in this Eulogy that is directly and fitly applicable to 
Francis Bacon and the volume than can well be understood 
of William Shakespeare, if we are to take his picture from 
his external biography. His characterization of the poet 
seems to have no congruity with this man. And, when he 
applies to the poet here the same language and the same 
lofty comparison that aje afterwards appropriated to Bacon 
by ndme in express terms, it must impress the mind as. 
something more .than ^n Incidental coincidence of expres- 
sions, and may be taken as some positive evidence that hfe 
was all the while thinking ' v of one and the same person. 
He might venture to say in this Eulogy : — 

" To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name, 
Am I thus ample to thy Booke, and Fame: 

1 Bacon and Shakespeare, pp. 25-39. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 649 

While I confesse thy writings to be such, 

As neither Mau, nor Muse, can praise too much." 



Thou art a Moniment, without a tombe, 
And art alive still, while thy Booke doth live, 
And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 

And though thou hadst small Latine, and lesse Greeke, 
From thence to honour thee, I would not seeke 
For names; but call forth thund'ring iEschilus, 
Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 
To life again, to heare thy Buskin tread, 
And shake a stage: Or, when thy SocJces were on, 
Leave thee alone, for the comparison 
Of all. that insolent Greece or haaghtie Rome 
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come" 1 

But when, long afterwards, lie is deliberately setting 
down in plain prose his critical judgment upon all the 
great wits and learned men of his time, he not only selects 
the Lord Chancellor Bacon for this same comparison, with 
a significant reference to something which he had performed 
" in our tongue," and which " had filled up all numbers," 
but omits to make any mention at all of William Shake- 
speare. He is speaking of wit and eloquence. The whole 
passage, which has a special reference to the Lord Verulam, 
may be cited thus : — 

" Yet there happened in my time one noble speaker, who was full of 
gravity in his speaking. His language, where he could spare, or pass by 
a jest, was nobly censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, more 
pressly, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what 
he uttered. Xo member of his speech but consisted of his own graces. 
His hearers could not cough or look aside from him without loss. He 
commanded when he spcke, and had his judges angry and pleased at his 
discretion. Xo man had their affections more in his power. The fear of 
every man who heard him was, lest he should make an end. 

" Cicero is said to be the only wit that the people of Rome had equalled 
to their empire. Jngtnium par imperw. We have had many, and in 
their several ages (to take in but the former seculum) Sir Thomas Moore, 
the elder Wiat, Henry earl of Surrey, Chaloner, Smith, Eliot, B. Gardiner, 

1 Eulogy: White's Shakespeare, Vol. II.: Preliminary Matter of the 
Folio of 1623. Boston, 1859. 



650 APPENDIX. 

were for their times admirable ; and the more because they began elo- 
quence with us. Sir Nic. Bacon was singular, and almost alone, in the 
beginning of Queen Elizabeth's time. Sir Philip Sidney and Mr. Hooker 
(in different matter) grew great masters of wit and language, and in whom 
all vigour of invention and strength of judgment met. The earl of Essex, 
noble and high, and Sir Walter Raleigh, not to be contemned, either for 
judgment or stile. Sir Henry Savile, grave and truly lettered; Sir Edwin 
Sandys, excellent in both; Lord Egerton, a grave and great orator, and best 
when he was provoked. But his learned and able {but unfortunate) suc- 
cessor is he, that hath filled up all numbers, and performed that in our 
tongue, which may be compared and preferred either to insolent Greece or 
haughty Rome. In short, within his view, and about his times, were all 
the wits born, that could honor a language, or help study. Now things 
daily fall: wits grow downward, and eloquence grows backward: so that 
he may be named, and stand as the mark and a<w of our language." l 

It is observable that the discourse runs more upon ora- 
tors than poets, and it is not impossible that the writer may 
have forgotten what he had said so long before of the poet 
Shakespeare. But even this would fall short of explaining 
the whole matter. Certainly these plays (by whomsoever 
written) might come into this consideration of our language, 
if not of wit and eloquence, and would as well justify that 
comparison and preference over the ancients as anything 
else done by Bacon in our tongue, though he were to be 
" named, and stand as the mark and acme of our language." 

The Rev. Dr. A. C. Kendrick, in a recent philological 
discourse, very aptly remarked that " in a country possess- 
ing the English language, and in which two such writers as 
Bacon and Milton were possible, a Shakespeare was not im- 
possible." 2 And I will venture to add my belief (in accord- 
ance with this statement of Ben Jonson), that a Shake- 
speare was possible, then, precisely because Francis Bacon 
then lived, and, alone of all the English wits known to Jon- 
son, had reached this mark and acme of our language, and 
had written Shakespeare. 

The article in Chambers' "Edinburgh Journal" 3 (from, 
which I have quoted already) continues : — 

1 Works of Ben Jonson, VII. pp. 98-100. London, 1756. 

2 Address before the Amer. Philological Society, at Providence^ m 187& 

3 No. 449, August 7, 1852, p. 87. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 651 

"But if Southampton really knew him [Shakespeare] to be the author 

of the dramas, how came it that Raleigh, Spenser, and even Bacon —all 
with genius so thoroughly kindred to the author of Hamlet — have all ig- 
nored his acquaintance? Raleigh and Bacon seem not to have known of 
his existence; while Spenser, if he alludes to the works, takes care to avoid 
the name. In short, He} wood, Suckling, Hales, and all the others who 
are recorded to have spoken of Shakespeare, with great admiration, con- 
fine themselves to the works, and seem personally to avoid the man, 
always excepting "Rare Ben Jonson ; " and we confess, if Ben is to be 
entirely believed, Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare. But Ben, if unsup- 
ported, is somewhat disqualified from being what the Scotch would call a 

'famous witness.' 

"We repeat, there is nothing recorded in his every -day life that con- 
nects the two [Shakespeare and Hamlet], except the single fact of his 
selling the poems and realizing the proceeds, and their being afterwards 
published with his name attached : and the statements of Ben Jonson, 
which, however, are quite compatible with his being in the secret.''* 

If there be anything in our view of the ambiguity of 
" Rare Ben's " Eulogy (besides all this other impeachment 
of his testimony), this writer mz^ht have forborne to make 
an exception even of him ; for he would seem to have been 
almost as careful as the rest to avoid any mention of the 
man himself. On any other theory, how should he forget 
and omit William Shakespeare altogether, in this enumera- 
tion of the wits of his time, especially when he had once 
previously, and in the same terms, set him at the topmost 
height of all ? On the whole, it would seem that this au- 
thentic fact, when considered in connection with the intimate 
relations that are known to have existed between Ben Jon- 
son and Bacon, his certain familiarity with Bacon's writings, 
and his connection with that Folio of 1623, might go far 
toward removing the last doubt from the critical mind, that 
Ben Jonson knew the secret and meant to keep it. That 
there was a secret to be kept, with regard to this authorship, 
is another and distinct fact, which must rest mainly upon 
other evidence, namely, all that goes to prove that William 
Shakespeare was not, and that Francis Bacon was, the real 
poet and author. 



652 APPENDIX. 

Page 170. Traditions. 
Mr. William Henry Smith also notices 1 an excellent ob- 
servation of Mr. Hallam (in 1842) upon the later researches 
into biographical facts, or rather vague traditions, relating 
to Shakespeare, as follows : — 

" I laud the labors of Mr. Collier, Mr. Hunter, and other collectors of 
such crumbs, though I am not sure that we should not venerate Shake- 
speare as much if they left him undisturbed in his obscurity. To be told 
that he played a trick to a brother player in a licentious amour, or that he 
died of a drunken frolic, as a stupid vicar of Stratford recounts (long 
after the time) in his diary, does not exactly inform us of the man who 
wrote Lear. If there was a Shakespeare of earth (as I suspect), there was 
also one of heaven; and it is of him we desire to know something." 

The drift here is clear and sharp in reference to the new 
discoveries relating to Shakespeare, but is quite ambiguous 
in reference to our question, which is not exactly what sort 
of a man William Shakespeare was (though that is impor- 
tant), or whether his earthly or his heavenly part were the 
better worth knowing. Coleridge, A. W. Schlegel, and 
some others, were as certain as no doubt Mr. Hallam was, 
that (taking it for granted that he wrote the plays) there 
must have been a heavenly nature in him, though we have 
no history but of his earthly existence. But not taking 
that for granted, this criticism loses none of its force as 
pointing to the necessity of still searching for more exact 
information of the man who wrote Lear, Hamlet, and all 
the rest. 

Page 176. Sir Tobie Matthew. 

Another important fact which had escaped my search 
(but which Mr. Smith did not fail to notice) 2 , is Sir Tobie 
Matthew's description of the character and qualities of Ba- 
con's mind, taken from his " Address to the Reader," which 
was prefixed to his printed " Collection of Letters." 3 The 

1 Bacon and Shakespeare, London, 1857, p. 25. 

2 Ibid., p. 97. 

3 A Collection of Letters made by Sir Tobie Matthevi, Kt., tvith a Char- 
acter of the most excellent Lady Lucy, Countess of Carlisle: To which are 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 653 

intimate relations and literary correspondence of the two 
men make it quite certain that Mr. Matthew was a compe- 
tent judge of this matter. Bacon often made him his ; in- 
quisitor ' and critic. As an additional testimony to this in- 
timacy, I may cite a passage from John Chamberlain's Let- 
ter of the 9th of August, 16 17. 1 Lord Chancellor Bacon had 
retired to his country seat at Gorhambary for the summer 
vacation, and Mr. Tobie Matthew (having shortly before 
obtained the King's leave to return to England) was stay- 
ing with him at Gorhambury. Chamberlain w T rites : " 1 have 
not seen Mr. Matthew but once since I wrote last, when we 
dealt as confidently one with another as need be, and so I 
will do whensoever he shall give me occasion. He hath 
been ever since at Gorhambury, being so exceedingly proved 
and respected by that lord, that it is thought aliquid nimium 
that a man of his place should give such countenance to one 
so affected ; and some stick not to say that former private 
familiarity should give place to public respect." Consider- 
ing that Bacon was in the habit of sending him, now and 
then, a " little work of his recreation," the expression in 
one of Mr. Matthew's letters in reply, "/ ivill not promise 
to return you weight for iveight, but Measure for Measure" 2 
may have some significance, and help to explain that no- 
table Postscript to another letter of Mr. Matthew to his 
lordship. 3 At any rate, this description will show what 
Mr. Matthew understood by " the most prodigious wit " of 
all England, at that day. As it did not come within the 
plan of Mr. Speclding's u Letters and Life of Lord Bacon " 
to include letters addressed to Bacon, it could not be ex- 
pected, perhaps, that he should take any notice of these 

added many Letters of his own to Several Persons of Honor, who were 
contemporary with him. London, 1660. 

1 Court and Times of James I., London, 1848, II. 25-27 ; Spedding's 
Letters and Life, VI. 216. 

2 Bacon and Shakespeare, by TVm. Henry Smith, Esq., p. 96; from 
Tobie Matthew's Collection. 

3 See ante, p. 175. 



654 APPENDIX. 

mysterious allusions in Sir Tobie Matthew's replies. The 
Address to the Reader runs thus : — 

"We have also rare compositions of minds amongst us, which look so 
many fair ways at once that I doubt it will go near to pose any other na- 
tion of Europe to muster out in any age four men, who, in so many re- 
spects, should excel four such as we are able to show — Cardinal Wolsey, 
Sir Thomas More, Sir Philip Sidney, and Sir Francis Bacon; for they 
were all a kind of monsters in their several ways 

" The fourth was a creature of incomparable abilities of mind, of a 
sharp and catching apprehension, large and faithful memoiy, plentifull 
and sprouting invention, deep and solid judgment for as much as might 
concern the understanding part: — a man so rare in knowledge, of so 
many several kinds, indued with the facility and felicity of expressing it 
all, in so elegant, significant, so abundant and yet so choice and ravish- 
ing a way of words, of metaphors, and allusions, as perhaps the world 
has not seen since it was a world. 

" I know this may seem a great hyperbole and strange kind of riotous 
excess of speech ; but the best means of putting me to shame will be for 
you to place any man of yours by this of mine. And, in the meantime, 
even this little makes a shift to shew that the Genius of England is still 
not only eminent, but predominant, for the assembling great variety of 
those rare parts, in some single man, which used to be incompatible any- 
where else." 

On what study I have been able to give to the plays of 
Shakespeare, I should say it would not be possible for any 
man to give a more just, accurate, and complete account of 
the genius of Shakespeare, in the same space, if he grounded 
his judgment alone upon what the plays contain. I have 
put the question how Ben Jonson came to omit William 
Shakespeare in his list of the great wits of his time ; and I 
cannot do better here than to repeat the question of Mr. 
Smith : " How was it the name of William Shakespeare — 
a man equal if not superior to Bacon in the points enumer- 
ated — did not occur to Sir Tobie Matthew ? " * 

Now I will venture to place by the side of this contem- 
porary judgment of Bacon's genius the conclusion of a very 
learned and profound modern critic as to that of Shake- 
speare, in which (if he would allow me to take the two for 
all one) I should most heartily concur : — 
" But out of the circle of religious books, I set Shakespeare as the one 
1 Bacon and Shakespeare, p. 98. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 655 

unparalleled mind. No nation has produced anything like his equal. 
There is no quality in the human mind, there is no class of topics, there 
is no region of thought, in which he has not soared or descended; and 
none in which he has not said the commanding word. All men are im- 
pressed, in proportion to their own advancement in thought, by the genius 
of Shakespeare. The greatest mind values Shakespeare most. It is 
wonderful that it has taken ages to esteem him. We find with wonder 
that he was not appreciated in his own time; that you can hardly find 
any contemporary who did him any justice. Still his fame and the influ- 
ence of his genius have risen with the progress of time. As there has 
been opportunity to compare him with other poets and writers, his superi- 
ority has been felt, and never so much as at this day. In reading Shake- 
speare, you will find yourself armed for the law, for divinity, and for com- 
merce with men." 1 

Judging from what Mr. Emerson has said of Bacon, one 
would imagine he would find no difficulty in believing him 
capable of reaching those " summits of Shakespeare " from 
which Milton, as by a " stair or high table-land, let down 
the English genius." 2 Coleridge calls Plato the Athenian 
Verulam and Bacon the British Plato. There is perhaps 
no question of Bacon's ability to soar to the heights or de- 
scend to the depths of all philosophy ; but it may not be 
superfluous here to cite another extract from Mr. Smith's 
book, 3 taken from Osborne (a contemporary who speaks 
from personal observation), touching those characteristics 
which are apt to lie nearer the surface and more open to 
the casual observer, and which are more akin to the stage. 
He fully confirms the opinions of Matthew and Ben Jon- 
son : — 

"And my memory neither doth (nor I believe possibly ever can) direct 
me to an example more splendid in this kind than the Lord Bacon, Earl 
of St. Albans, who in all companies did appear a good proficient, if not a 
master, in those arts entertained for the subject of every one's discourse. 
So as I dare maintain, without the least affectation of flattery or hyper- 
bole, that his most casual talk deserveth to be written, as I have been told 
his first or foulest copies required no great labour to render them compe- 
tent for the nicest judgments: high perfection attainable only by use and 
treating with every man in his respective profession, and which he was 
most versed in. 

1 Address of R. W. Emerson, at Washington, D. C, in January, 1872. 

2 English Traits, p. 244. 

3 Bacon and Shakespeare, p. 102. 



656 APPENDIX. 

" So as I have heard him entertain a country lord in the proper terms re- 
lating to hawks and dogs, and at another time outcant a London chirur- 
geon. Thus he did not only learn himself, but gratify such as taught 
him, who looked upon their calling as honoured by his notice. Nor did an 
easy falling into arguments (not unjustly taken for a blemish in the most) 
appear less than an ornament in him; the ears of his hearers receiving 
more gratification than trouble; and no less sorry when he came to con- 
clude, than displeased with any that did interrupt him. Now, the general 
knowledge he had in all things, husbanded by his wit and dignified with 
so majestical a carriage he was known to own, struck such an awful rev- 
erence in those he questioned, that they durst not conceal the most intrin- 
sic part of their mysteries from him, for fear of appearing ignorant or 
saucy. All which rendered him no less necessary than admirable at the 
council-table, when in reference to impositions, monopolies, etc., the 
meanest manufactures were an usual argument; and, as I have heard, 
he did in this baffle the Earl of Middlesex, who was born and bred a citi- 
zen, etc. Yet without any great (if at all) interrupting his abler studies, 
as is not hard to be imagined of a quick apprehension, in which he was 
admirable." 

If all this in addition to all the rest is not sufficient to 
demonstrate the capability of Bacon to perform this poeti- 
cal and dramatic work, it would be useless to dwell further 
on this topic. True, the capacity for it does not prove the 
doing of it ; but as preliminary to the main argument to be 
founded on a thorough critical comparison of the two writ- 
ings, it may clear the way, and open the eye and ear to the 
more direct evidence of the identity of the writer of both. 

Page 230. Amare et Sapere. 

Theobald cites the classical sources of this expression in 
his note to this same passage in the " Troilus and Cressida," 
as follows : Terence's " Eunuch," Act I. sc. 1 ; Horace's 
« Serm." Lib. II. 3 ; Pliny the Younger, Bk. IV. Epist. 27 ; 
and Menander's "Greek Epigram." 1 I had quoted the 
phrase from the " Essay on Love," and we have it again, in 
the recently discovered manuscript copy of the Masque of 
1592, of which one of the speeches is on Love, thus : " I 
thought you deserved a patent that hath been granted but 
seldom, and that is Amare et Sapere." 2 This may be taken 

1 Theobald's Shakespeare, VII. 63. 

2 Spedding's edition of the Masque, in A Conference of Pleasure, 
etc., London, 1870. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 657 

as a fair specimen, perhaps, of the classical phrases that were 
in common use among scholars at that day, and entirely 
within the reach of any writer for the stage. Nevertheless, 
these instances show that Francis Bacon was in the habit 
of using it, whenever he had occasion. 

Pages 286-290. The Northumberland MSS. and the ''Julius 
Ccesar" and "Love's Labor's Lost" 
There was discovered, in 1867, in the library of North- 
umberland House in London, a remarkable MSS., contain- 
ing copies of several papers which were the work of Fran- 
cis Bacon. One of these pieces (being a Masque) has been 
carefully edited by Mr. Spedding under the title of " A Con- 
ference of Pleasure, etc., by Francis Bacon," with an intro- 
duction giving an account of the MSS. and its discovery, 
together with a fac-simile of the title-page of the whole 
document. 1 Without undertaking to repeat the entire ac- 
count (which is well worth an attentive perusal), I must 
notice here the leading facts that seem to bear upon the 
question of the authorship of these Shakespeare plays, — > 
a question which Mr. Spedding seems not to have regarded 
as any part of his function to examine or consider. It ap- 
pears that this MSS. was found in a box of old papers, 
which had apparently remained unopened for about a cen- 
tury past ; but how or when it came into the library, is not 
certainly ascertained, though some circumstances rendered 
it probable that it had been purchased at some auction sale. 
The whole document appears to have been the work of one 
or more copyists : no trace of the handwriting of Bacon is 
recognized in it. The title-page contains, first, a list of 
the titles of the pieces (apparently) that had been copied. 
These titles answer very nearly to the pieces that remain,, 
so far as they go ; but a portion of the original volume* 
(perhaps one whole quire of sheets together with some 

1 A Conference of Pleasure, composed for some festive occasion about 
the year 1592, by Francis Bacon. Edited, from a MSS. belonging to the 
Duke of Northumberland, by James Spedding. London, 1870. 
42 



658 APPENDIX. 

sheets out of the middle of the other quire) would seem to 
have been detached and lost ; so that the MSS. now con- 
tains no pieces answering to the following titles : — 

11 Orations at Graie's Inne revells. 
. . . . Queen's Ma ts .... 

By Mr. Frauncis Bacon. 
Essaies by the same author. 
Richard the Second. 
Richard the Third. 
Asmund and Cornelia. 
Isle of Dogs frmnt. 

By Thomas Nashe, infer io-r places." 

The portion that remains comprises, first, the Masque 
(that of 1592), entitled " Mr. Frauncis Bacon Of Tribute 
or giving what is dew." It consists of four speeches in 
character with as many distinct titles, namely : 

" The praise of the worthiest vertue " {of which the subject is Fortitude). 
u The praise of the worthiest affection M {Love). 
11 The praise of the worthiest power " {Knowledge). 
tl The praise of the worthiest per son" {the Queen). 

The first two were unknown before : the two last were 
known from another MSS. and were edited by Mr. Sped- 
din£ in the first volume of his " Letters and Life of Lord 
Bacon." And then, secondly, there are three or four first 
draughts or fragments of well-known tracts, or letters, of 
Bacon (one of which is not mentioned in the list of titles) 
and certain speeches for masques or tilts, a letter or two, 
and a portion of " Leycester's Commonwealth (incerto au- 
thore)," which are named in the list. And then, the blank 
space at the side and between the titles is scribbled all over 
with various words, letters, phrases, and scraps of verse in 
English and Latin, as if the copyist were merely trying his 
pen, and writing down whatever first came into his head. 
Among these scribblings, besides the name of Francis 
Bacon several times, the name of William Shakespeare is 
written eight or nine times over. A line from the " Rape 
of Lucrece " is written thus : " Revealing day through every 
cranie peeps and" the writer taking peeps from the next 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 659 

couplet instead of spies. Three others (not noticed in 
Mr. Spedding's Introduction) are Anthony comfrt. and con- 
sorte and honor ijicabilitudino and plaies. I must accept Mr. 
Spedding's opinion, that the handwriting of Bacon does not 
appear in the MSS. "I think I am in a condition to assert," 
he says, " that there is no trace of Bacon's penmanship in 
any part of the volume ; and the name of Shakespeare is 
spelt in every case as it was always printed in those days, 
and not as he himself in any known case ever wrote it." * 
He states, however, that he discovers nothing in the chirog- 
raphy that would lead him to assign the MSS. to any period 
later than the reign of Elizabeth. This is an important 
fact : it brings the date of these curious scribblings as well 
as the volume certainly within the lifetime of Bacon and 
within the period in which the plays were written. The 
date 1596 (mentioned in one of the titles) gives a limit on 
that side : it could not have been completed before that 
date. The compositions are all productions of that reign. 

The most obvious interpretation of the words Anthony 
comfort and consorte would seem to be, that the scribbler 
had in mind the brother Anthony Bacon associated with 
the idea of his being an intimate companion also ; and it is 
well known that the intimacy between them was extremely 
close even for brothers. We know that Anthony Bacon 
had lodgings in Gray's Inn in 1592-93: that, in 1594, his, 
house was near the Bull Inn Theatre, and that both he and- 
Francis and the young lords and courtiers, their associates, 
were much given to theatres and plays ; and that he died 
in 1604. It is a fair inference that this scribbling was 
done before the death of Anthony, and while his presence 
about his brother's lodgings in Gray's Inn must have been 
quite frequent, and when it would be highly probable that 
an amanuensis or copyist in the employ of Francis would 
have the brother Anthony in mind also, while casually try- 
ing his pen. It is, indeed, possible that this might have 

1 Introduction, p. xxv. 



660 APPENDIX. 

been some other Anthony ; but the probability would seem 
to be all the other way. 

The " Richard II." and " Richard III." had been printed 
in 1597, and the " Love's Labor's Lost," in 1598, and this 
copyist (whoever he was) may have read them after these 
dates, or heard them at the theatre before ; and he may 
very well have known of them as reputed plays of Shake- 
speare. It is not likely he would copy a printed play, nor 
that he would be able to get a copy of a play from the 
theatres, since they kept their copies very close ; nor is it 
easy to imagine how he could get a copy from William 
Shakespeare. The word honorific abilitudino is not found 
in any dictionary that I know of ; but in the " Love's La- 
bor's Lost " (Act V. sc. 1), Costard, the clown, bandying 
Latin with the tall schoolmaster and curate (who had " been 
at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps"), ex- 
claims : — 

"O! they have liv'd long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy 
master hath not eaten thee for a word; for thou art not so long by the 
head as honor ificabilitudinatibus." 

It is pretty evident that these words were coined in the 
same mint, or at least that one was derived from the other ; 
but whether this same amanuensis had copied the " Love's 
Labor's Lost " also, or had read it in the quarto of 1598, or 
had heard it at the theatre, or whether the word may not 
have been merely a common slang term of the time, must 
be left to conjecture. But since it is quite certain that he 
had copied the " Richard II." and the " Richard III.," there 
would seem to be no improbability in the supposition that 
he had, at some time, copied the other play as well. Mr. 
Spedding seems to have no difficulty in arriving at the con- 
clusion that this copyist (whoever he was) had copied the 
two Shakespeare plays named in the list of titles into this 
manuscript volume as it was originally ; but he grounds his 
inference on the fact that the name William Shakespeare is 
" most prominent " among the scribblings, " being written 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 661 

eight or nine times over for no other reason that can be dis- 
cerned." But having started out with the wholly gratui- 
tous assumption that this volume was made by some stran- 
ger to Bacon's workshop, or elsewhere than in his study, 
— by some " London quidnunc" or fancy collector of cir- 
culating manuscripts, — and that the idle penman was his 
copyist and some young man whose head was running on 
theatres and actors, he takes it only as " one of the earliest 
evidences of the growth of Shakespeare's personal fame as 
a dramatic author ; the beoinninor of which cannot be dated 
much earlier than 1598." It is indeed very probable that 
Shakespeare had, at that time, acquired a general reputa- 
tion of which this scribbler had heard, and it is, perhaps, 
barely possible, but scarcely credible, that this collection 
was made by some such London quidnunc; but this mere 
hypothesis is not enough to explain the whole matter. It 
is quite as easily and perhaps better explained by consider- 
ing that if this scribbler were Bacon's amanuensis, and that 
he had been employed in copying plays from Bacon's own 
originals, he would know very well who was the real author 
of them, and, at the same time, would know (what Sir To- 
bie Matthew knew perfectly well) that the most prodigious 
wit of all England was of the name of Bacon, though he 
were known by another ; and this singular fact might very 
readily pop into the head of a wicked amanuensis (even 
some years later than the completion of the volume), and 
draw the name of William Shakespeare from his idle pen. 

There are other grounds for the inference that these were 
the Shakespeare plays of those names. One is, that the 
names appear in a list of titles, the majority of which desig- 
nated compositions of a dramatic character: a prose history, 
or an essay, would hardly be denominated in that style. 
Another is, that no other plays of that age are known that 
bore anything like these titles ; and the circumstance may 
be worthy of mention that the words (as I read them) Ba- 
con ende of the Asmund and Cornelia and plaies distinctly 



662 APPENDIX. 

appear in the fac- simile of these scribblings. I think it 
may safely be inferred that these titles did in fact mean the 
Shakespeare plays. It is possible, too, that they were first 
sketches, or merely some materials intended for them. 

Mr. Spedding further suggests " that the list of contents 
being now complete, the writer (or more probably another 
into whose possession the volume passed) has amused him- 
self with writing down promiscuously the names and phrases 
that most run in his head." This statement would be con- 
sistent enough with the idea that this volume passed from 
the hands of one amanuensis into those of a subsequent 
one in Bacon's chambers ; but the conception of the w T riter 
evidently was, that the volume probably passed from the 
hands of the first London collector of circulating manu- 
scripts into the hands of another owner, at some date 
within the period to which the chirography is assignable. 
His idea certainly was, that Bacon never had anything to 
do with it. It is not necessary to suppose, on either hy- 
pothesis, that the scribblings were jotted down while the vol- 
ume was in the process of making up ; the copyist would 
then hardly venture to use the title-page in that manner ; 
but it is not improbable that, during a period of twenty 
years, or say the lifetime of Bacon (from 1598 to 1626), 
this manuscript volume may have fallen into disuse, and 
been laying about the tables where a careless amanuensis 
might be hastily trying his pen. Nor is it necessary to 
suppose that the pieces contained were all copied at or 
about the same time. Mr. Spedding observes that the ink 
of the beginning of the list of titles is of the same color 
as that of the first portion of the volume ; and he dis- 
tinctly intimates that the latter part of the list of titles is 
in a different handwriting from that of the first part ; but, 
of course, the latter part of the volume being gone, he 
could not speak of that. But it is enough for the purpose 
here that the handwriting belongs to the age of Eliza- 
beth. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 663 

This view of the origin of the manuscript may receive 
some confirmation from Mr. Spedding's account of another 
manuscript, or " fragment of a paper book," which would 
seem to have been very similar in character, and to have 
had a like fortune, and which the learned editor does not 
presume to have been made anywhere else than in Bacon's 
own study. This account was given (prior to this new dis- 
covery) in the first volume of the "Letters and Life of 
Lord Bacon." It was a " paper-book " that contained 
other copies of the two speeches in praise of Knowledge 
and in praise of the Queen only, and which were there 
connected with the supposed masque or device prepared by 
Bacon, at the instance of Essex, for the triumphs exhib- 
ited before the Queen, on the 17th of November, 1592. 
This manuscript (he informs us) was found among the pa- 
pers submitted to Stephens by Lord Oxford (printed by 
Locker in 1734), and somehow found its way into the Brit- 
ish Museum, where it is still to be seen. He then wrote 
concerning it thus: — 

11 They [the two speeches] are both contained in a fragment of a paper- 
book, into which some of Bacon's early writings have been copied; — 
among others the Colours of Good and Evil, with the dedicatory letter to 
Lord Mountjoy, of which one leaf remains, and the Essays as printed in 
1597 ; the two last of which {Of Faction and Of Negotiating) are copied 
on the other side of the leaf on which the Discourse in praise of the Queen 
begins. What else the book originally contained one cannut guess, this 
portion having evidently been preserved only for the sake of these two 
pieces. They are written in a fair close Saxon hand ; probably contem- 
porary, though there is nothing to fix the date; and I think the hand of 
a mere transcriber; who wrote straight on without thinking of the mean- 
ing. . . . The copy does not appear to have been revised by anybody, 
and has certainly not been corrected by Bacon." 1 

It is certainly significant that this paper-book also con- 
tained several pieces or fragments that were evidently not 
intended for publication, or for circulation in manuscript; 
that a part of it was gone ; that the part remaining had 
" evidently been preserved only for the sake of these two 
1 Letters and Life, by Spedding, I. 121. 



664 APPENDIX. 

pieces ;" and that the writing was a fair close Saxon hand, 
probably contemporary, and that of a mere transcriber. 
It would seem to have been just such another paper-book 
as this now in question. 

Now comes the inquiry, how and for what purpose 
came these two Shakespeare plays to be copied into that 
collection of Bacon's compositions, at that period ? Ten of 
the thirteen titles are evidently masques or plays. Two 
only are certainly not his work ; one of these (" Leycester's 
Commonwealth ") is marked incerto author e, and the other 
(the " Isle of Dogs ") is said to be " by Thomas Nashe." 
' The other piece (not named in the list) is a first draught 
or fragment of a well-known tract of Bacon. Some three 
or four of the pieces are manifestly first copies, mere rudi- 
ments, or unfinished papers. These, certainly, were not 
such compositions as would be likely to be circulated 
abroad in manuscript copies. 

Let us consider this more particularly. The piece next 
to the Masque of 1592, is Of Magnanimitie or Heroicall 
Vertue, a fragment or first draught of a passage which ap- 
pears u in better form " (says Mr. Spedding), in the " Ad- 
vancement of Learning." The next piece is a mere " rudi- 
ment " of the succeeding paper, which is a complete copy 
of the Advertisement Touching the Controversies of the 
Church of England, a well-known tract of Bacon, first 
printed in 1640. The next is a Letter to a French Gentle- 
man, touching proceedings in England in Ecclesiastical 
Causes, translated out of the French into English by W. W., 
which is a copy so far as it goes (ending at the missing 
sheets) of a letter of Sir Francis Walsingham to M. Critoy, 
Secretary of France, which Mr. Spedding believes to have 
been drafted by Bacon ; and this will explain why Bacon 
should have in his paper-book a translation by W. W. from 
the French copy. It is perhaps possible also that some 
London quidnunc might have obtained a copy. The next 
piece is the Essex Masque of 1595, written by Bacon, and 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 665 

of which he would be likely to preserve a copy in this 
manner. The next is the Speech for the Earl of Sussex's 
tilt, in 1596, addressed to the Queen, and apologizing for 
the absence of Essex. This, too, he might well preserve. 
The next is a Letter, without heading or signature, but is a 
very good copy of Bacon's letter to Elizabeth, dissuading 
her from marrying the Duke of Anjou. This (probably a 
first draught) would be more likely to be preserved by Ba- 
con than to be circulating abroad in that unfinished state. 
And then follows the fragment that remains of Leycester's 
Commonwealth. The rest is all gone. The lost pieces (as 
indicated by the list of titles) were the Orations at Grate's 
Inne revels, that is, most probably, the Masque of the 
Prince of Purpoole, which was performed at Gray's Inn in 
1594, and of which an account is given in the Gesta Grayo- 
rum ; the Essaie's by the same author, first printed in 1597, 
and of which copies had been preserved in this paper-book ; 
and the Richard the Second, the Richard the Third,, Asmund 
and Cornelia (evidently a play of which all we know is that 
in the scribblings appear the words Bacon ende of the As- 
mnnd and Cornelia, the scribbler associating it in his mind 
with Bacon in some way) and the Isle of Dogs frmnt, by 
Thomas Nashe, inferior places, of which Mr. Spedding 
remarks that Thomas Nash wrote the Introduction and 
first act, and the players the rest ; but of which no copy 
has been found. Here, it may be observed, that if Bacon 
were a writer of plays, it should not be at all surprising 
that he should have all sorts of scraps and "inferior places" 
in his collection of materials. 

When the character of these writings is considered, it 
becomes highly improbable, or next to impossible, that 
such a collection of Bacon's papers in manuscript could 
have been brought together anywhere else than in his own 
study, or copied by any other than his own amanuensis, 
during that period. They are not such papers as could 
have been intended for publication; the volume has the 



666 APPENDIX. 

appearance of a collection of the author's private papers ; 
and the copies would seem to have been made for preserva- 
tion merely, and evidently for the use of the writer himself. 
We know that manuscript copies of sonnets, poems, essays, 
and other like finished compositions, did circulate from hand 
to hand, in those days, and even as late as John Chamber- 
lain's Letters ; but not, I imagine, such private, rudimen- 
tary, and unfinished manuscripts as some of these were. 
Copies of the masques and tilts may, indeed, have gone 
into the hands of the performers and others ; and so of 
copies of finished tracts ; but mere fragments, or rough 
draughts, would scarcely be allowed to get abroad in that way. 
And copies of plays, whether from Bacon's laboratory, or 
from Shakespeare's theatres, would certainly be withheld 
from general circulation. Nor is it easy to imagine what 
sufficient motive or object any collector of literary gems 
would have in making a collection of manuscript copies of 
such writings as these were. It is indeed* conceivably pos- 
sible ; but to my mind not half so probable as that the col- 
lection was made by the author's direction and for his own 
use ; and if it were once conceded, on all the other evidence, 
that Bacon was really the author of the plays, then this 
probability would rise almost to the rank of a certainty. 

Mr. Spedding suggests the possibility that the detached 
portion of the manuscript volume might still somewhere 
turn up. Suppose, then, it should come to light. Still, on 
the theory that William Shakespeare was the author of 
the plays, the question would remain, how they came to be 
copied into this volume of Baconian tracts? or how they 
were ever obtained from the author ? since Francis Bacon 
is nowhere recorded to have had any acquaintance with 
Shakespeare, nor Shakespeare with him; and the managers 
at the theatre were so careful of their copies that the prin- 
ters (in several known instances) had to steal them from 
the mouths of the actors. Nor would there be less diffi- 
culty in conceiving how any London quidnunc could have 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 667 

obtained them, either from Shakespeare, or from his thea- 
tres. And the supposition that William Shakespeare em- 
ployed his amanuensis (if he ever had one) in copying 
these writings of Bacon for his use would be scarcely more 
credible. The spelling of his name in the scribblings would 
contradict that. 

On all these facts, the more tenable theory would seem 
to be, that this unique manuscript came from Bacon's own 
study ; and it is known that he took especial care to pre- 
serve all manuscripts that were deemed valuable, and, before 
his death, directed such of them as he intended to leave be- 
hind him to be locked up in boxes and cabinets, and com- 
mitted them to the care of his friends and executors. On 
the supposition that this was one of them, there would cer- 
tainly be scarcely a possibility that these scribblings could 
have been made elsewhere than in his chambers, during 
the reign of Elizabeth, or before his death in 1626 ; and it 
must have been a long time after that, before Bacon's man- 
uscripts began to be distributed from those boxes and cab- 
inets out of the hands of his executors and editors. And 
that this volume passed, in some way, whether by auction 
sales or otherwise, from their possession into the library of 
Northumberland House, would seem to be no very difficult 
hypothesis. 

In view of all this, the assumed quidnunc theory of Mr. 
Spedding, with some theatre-loving " law-stationer's ap- 
prentice " added, however conceivably possible, cannot be 
admitted as " a quite sufficient" explanation of the matter ; 
even with the negative circumstance that the learned editor 
failed to identify the handwriting of the copyist with that 
of any amanuensis known by him to have been employed 
by Bacon. 

In short, it is just no explanation at all, or at least an 
altogether unsatisfactory one. On the contrary, the theory 
that would seem to be much better warranted, on all 
grounds of inference, may be stated thus : That, during 



668 APPENDIX. 

the period to which the chirography belongs, such a collec- 
tion of such papers could not well have been made elsewhere 
than in Bacon's own study ; that the " idle penman " was 
his amanuensis (if not one of those " several good pens " 
he is known to have employed) ; that this amanuensis must 
have known that Baeoa himself was the author of the man- 
uscript compositions which he was employed in copying, or 
of which he was the author, and of which not ; that there 
is no probability that Bacon, or any third person, could 
have obtained copies of Shakespeare's plays, either from 
himself or his theatres, to be copied into a collection of 
Bacon's writings in that manner ; that a knowledge of the 
secret of Bacon's authorship of the plays would be far 
more likely to cause the names of Shakespeare and Bacon 
to flow together from the pen of this idle copyist into those 
scribblings than any reputation which William Shakespeare 
had otherwise acquired, — more even than any interest the 
"idle penman" had acquired in plays and theatres ; and that 
this volume would in all probability go into those boxes and 
cabinets, and remain there until long afterwards distributed 
by his executors and editors in various ways ; but that Ba- 
con, before his death, intending to suppress all evidence of 
his authorship of the plays (for such must have been his in- 
tention if he were in fact the author of them), had detached 
and destroyed these copies of the " Richard II." and the 
" Richard III." (and perhaps also some other of these dra- 
matic pieces), overlooking, perhaps, the name of Shakespeare 
and these titles, concealed as they were from a hasty glance 
among those scribblings on the title-page. In this case, the 
missing portion should not be expected ever to turn up; nor, 
if it did, is it easy to see, that such mere copies could throw 
upon our question (the authorship of the originals) any 
more light than what we have already from this curious 
manuscript. 

I have said that if Bacon were the author of the plays, 
it would seem that he must have taken some pains to sup- 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 669 

press the manuscripts, since none remain. This fact is not 
a little perplexing. The reasons already suggested for con- 
cealment during the period in which the plays appeared, 
being the earlier part of his life, are not so difficult of ap- 
preciation ; but that he should not desire posterity to know 
the fact, seems almost inexplicable. We may imagine a 
variety of considerations : we cannot know the actual rea- 
sons. In the later days of his higher dignities and renown, 
so far as the mere lustre of his name was concerned, he 
may have regarded these plays (sufficiently preserved in 
the Folio) as trifles in comparison with his prose writings 
and his graver philosophical works (which he certainly 
deemed most important of all), and preferred that his rep- 
utation with the next ages should rest on them ; or, he 
may have designed from the beginning to throw the 
dramas upon the world's stage, and leave them to work 
their own way in the popular mind upon their inherent 
merits, regardless of the name and position of the writer; 
or, again, when he had fallen from power, and the sentence 
of the House of Lords had cast a stain upon his reputation 
and character, that would inevitably be impressed upon the 
general mind, howsoever unmerited, and would diminish, if 
not utterly destroy, the influence and effectiveness which 
the plays were designed to have, when written, as a means 
of popular instruction in matters of civil wisdom, social 
virtues, the whole nature and state of man, morals, and 
even religion, he mav have deemed it wiser to hand them 
down under the mask of the same name in which they were 
already known. And this very reason might be urged by 
some, and not without some plausibility, why they should 
be allowed so to remain. Nevertheless, since the more 
recent researches have thrown some new light upon his 
personal history and real character, and reduced that kill- 
ing sentence, in the more charitable construction of this 
modern age, to the aspect of a political event — a sudden 
reform of a custom that had led to abuses, — or (as Ben 



670 APPENDIX. 

Jonson said) an accident that could do no harm to virtue, 
but rather help to make it manifest, not necessarily in- 
volving moral turpitude, or delinquency beyond the com- 
mon frailty of human nature, it should no longer prevail, 
perhaps, against the more weighty reasons why mankind 
should correctly understand this miracle also. 

In justice, it should be borne in mind that the main ob- 
ject of Mr. Spedding was, to edit the newly discovered 
Masque as an ascertained part of Bacon's Occasional 
Works. Starting with the prepossession that William 
Shakespeare was the unquestionable author of the plays, 
it was inevitable, perhaps, that he would find no more in 
this manuscript than some evidence of the growing reputa- 
tion of Shakespeare as a dramatic author. " What other 
inferences," he adds, will be drawn from it " by those who 
start with the conviction, that Bacon, and not Shakespeare, 
was the real author of 4 Richard II.' and ' Richard III./ I 
cannot say." It does not appear to have occurred to him to 
compare the Masque with the plays. Indeed, in his view 
of the proposition, such an undertaking must seem scarcely 
less than absurd, and according to his appreciation of that 
sort of evidence, utterly futile. Nevertheless, for others 
as well as myself, a critical comparison of the newly dis- 
covered speeches of the Masque with some of the plays 
may be the most important thing of all. 

One of the new speeches is in praise of the worthiest 
virtue, Fortitude. The merits of this virtue are set forth 
with much skill, and with the author's usual depth of learn- 
ing, and illustrated by examples drawn from the great 
characters of antiquity, Socrates, Vespasian, Severus, and 
especially Julius Caesar and Marcus Brutus. The reader 
cannot fail to be reminded at once of the play of " Julius 
Caesar," in which the same virtue of courage or fortitude in 
the greatest persons, under the severest trials, dangers, and 
afflictions, are exemplified in a very admirable manner. 
Passing by the general tenor of the moral instruction, doc- 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 671 

trines, and ideas, in both the speech and the play, I proceed 
to notice certain distinct traces or earmarks of the author 
himself (italicizing for convenience the more particular ex- 
pressions). 

The speech begins thus: "My praise shall be dedicated 
to the noblest of the virtues. Prudence to discern between 
good and evil. Justice to stand indifferent between self-love 
and society. Temperance to decide aright between desire and 
reason. These be good innocent things. Bat the virtue of 
action, the virtue of resolution, the virtue of effect, is fortitude. 

The play makes Brutus the great exemplar of these vir- 
tues : they are the very virtues which Antony did not have 
as appears in the " Antony and Cleopatra," where he is 
characterized as one 

— " That would make his will 
Lord of his reason." 

Indeed, the antithesis of this virtue of fortitude, namely, 
weakness in state and person, is the leading subject of that 
play, — 

11 You will find there a man, who is the abstract 
Of all faults all men follow." 

In the " Julius Caesar," Antony is made to speak thus over 

the body of Brutus : — 

" Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 
All the conspirators, save only he, 
Did that they did in envy of great Csesar ; 
He, only, in a general honest thought 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, 
And say to all the world, ' This was a man ! " — Act V. Sc. 5. 

Speech : " Thus is fortitude the marshal of thoughts, the 
armour of the will, and the fort of reason. Let us turn 
our consideration, and behold justice, the sacred virtue, the 
virtue of refuge, the virtue of society. Doth not she also 
shroud herself under the protection of fortitude? Let a man 
be abstinent from wrong, exact in duty, grateful in obliga- 
tion, and yet dismantled and open to fear or dolor, what 



672 APPENDIX. 

will ensue? Will not the menace of a tyrant make him 
condemn the innocent ? Will not the sense of torture make 
him appeal his dearest friends and that untruly ? But pain 
hath taught him a new philosophy. He beginneth to be 
persuaded that it is justice to pay tribute to nature, to yield 
to the rigour of pain, to be merciful to himself. He would 
give others leave to do the like by him : he would forgive 
them if they did. ....... 

" And therefore now we have showed how fortitude mak- 
eth the mind bring the works and actions of virtue to the 
taste and fruition of pleasure, it is time to set forth what it 
can do against those extreme things called evils. These evils, 
let them be mustered. Are they pain of body ? grief of 
mind ? slander of name ? scarcity of means ? solitude of 
friends ? fear of death ? Why none of them are ill with 
fortitude, which can bear pain of body without violating 
the repose of our minds in themselves or omitting our care 

for others Let no man quarrel with the decree 

of Providence. .... So as that which doth draw 
from men lamentations, outcries, excess of grief it is not 
the outward enemy but the inward traitor. Nothing is to 
be feared but fear itself Nothing grievous but to yield to 
grief" 

Turn now to the Tent-scene {Act IV. Sc. 3) between 
Brutus and Cassius, and read the whole scene to see how 
Cassius appeals his dearest friend Brutus, under a sense of 
torture, and is forgiven ; but certain particular expressions 
about justice, philosophy, evils, fear of death, grief Provi- 
dence, and meditation on death, may be noted also. 

" Bru. Did not great Julius bleed for justice'' s sake f 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice ? 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, ' 

For Cassius is a-weary of the world'. 

O, I could weep 

My spirit from mine eyes 

I did not think you could have been so angry. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 673 

Bru. 0, Cassius, / am sick of many griefs. 
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
If you give place to accidental evils. 
Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. 

Cas. Upon what sickness ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence, 

And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong ; — for with her death 
That tidings came. ..... 

Bru. Why farewell, Portia. — We must die, Messala: 
With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure." 1 

Speech: " I do wonder at the Stoics that accounted them- 
selves to hold the masculine virtues, esteeming other sects 
delicate, tender and effeminate, that they should so urge and 

advise men to the meditation of death More 

manfully thought the voluptuous sect that counted it as one- 
of the ordinary works of nature." 

So Cassius turns upon the voluptuous sect : — 

" Cas. You know that / held Epicurus strong 
And his opinion: now, I change my mind, 
And partly credit things that do presage. 

Bru. Ev'n by the rule of that philosophy , 
By which I did blame Cato, for the death 
Which he did give himself ; I know not how, 
But I do find it cowardly, and vile, 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
The time of life, — arming myself with patience 
To stay the providence of some high powers,. 
That govern us below." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

Speech : " Therefore it is fortitude that must help or con- 
summate or enable all virtues. ..... But this I may 

say, that fear is the mother of deformity, and that I never 
saw a man comely in fear. So it is fortitude that giveth a 
majesty, a beauty to all actions." 

So Brutus meditates on the fear of death and is full of. 
grief, yet bears himself majestically : — 

" Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 
Bar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates, 
1 See ante, p. 643. 



674 APPENDIX. 

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief , 
That it runs over even at his eyes." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

The Essay is a plain, didactic statement of doctrines and 
principles : the play exhibits the same in action and opera- 
tion before the eyes "as in a visible history or a speaking 
picture ; " and of course the high poetic style is adopted in 
the drama, and, as style merely, seems to be quite different 
from the prose ; but the sharp critic will easily discover the 
same ideas, doctrines, words, and expressions, cropping out 
all along in a like order and in connection with the same 
topics, exactly as might be expected when the same full 
mind is writing upon kindred subjects, even in forms so dif- 
ferent as poetry and prose, and at different times, uncon- 
sciously, no doubt, and in spite of himself. 

Next comes the reference to great examples. 

Speech : " Julius Caesar, the worthiest man that ever lived, 
the bravest soldier, a man of the greatest honour, and one 
that had the most real and effectual eloquence that ever man 
had ; not a sounding and flowing eloquence for a continuate 
speech, but an eloquence of action, an eloquence of affairs y 
an eloquence that had suppressed a great mutiny with a sin- 
gle word ( Quirites), an eloquence to imprint and work upon 
any man that which he spoke. See now whether he varied 
from himself at his death." 

The same ideas, manner, and even words, may be seen in 
the play, as for instance these : — 

" Ant. — nor no instrument 

Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 

— the noblest man, 
That ever liv'd in the tide of times." — Act III. Sc. 1. 
11 That struck the foremost man of all this world." — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

" Anjt, O masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 



Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

Moreover, this description of Caesar's eloquence finds the 

most perfect exemplification in the speech of Antony over 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 675 

the dead body of Csesar, who had fallen early in the action, 
and whose wounds only could speak now in the play (bor- 
rowing the voice of Antony), — 

" Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue." 

That this speech is a masterpiece of eloquence and a model 
for all time, no one will dispute. It is not " a sounding 
and flowing eloquence for a continuate speech/ ' but "the 
most real and effectual eloquence that ever man had," and 
" an eloquence to imprint and work upon any man," that 
which is spoken. And here the general question might be 
put, Was it William Shakespeare, or Francis Bacon, that 
was, in historical fact in that age, this consummate master in 
the art of eloquence ? Ben Jonson, Matthew, Osborne, 
Howell, all his contemporaries, and indeed Bacon's known 
works, may furnish the answer. There is no other and ex- 
trinsic specimen of Shakespeare's eloquence to rebut that 
answer. 

Speech : " The first wound that was given him on the 
neck by Casca, that stood behind his chair, he turned about 
and caught hold of his arm : traitor Casca, what doest 
thou ? " 

The play continues (Act IV. Sc. 1), beginning with a 
stage direction, thus : — 

" [Casca stabs Caesar in the neck. CLesar catches hold of his arm. He 
is then stabbed by several other conspirators, and last by Marcus Bru- 
tus.] 
" Cces. Et tu, Brute f Then fall, Caesar." 

Observe now that this expression, and last by Marcus 
Brutus, is a distinct echo of the Speech, which proceeds 
thus : " At last when Marcus Brutus gave him a wound 
(and thou my son)" Having chosen the Latin for the play, 
these words, and thou my son, could not come in here ; but 
the idea of his being Caesar's son did not fail to make its 
appearance further on, as thus : — 

" Bru. That were you, Antony, the son of Ccesar, 
You should be satisfied." —Act III. Sc. 1. 



676 APPENDIX. 

Again, in the stage direction, there is no mention of the 
fact that Casca stood behind Caesar's chair ; but the author 
had not forgotten that circumstance, which comes in more 
fitly in another place : — 

u Ant. Whilst damned Casca, like a cur behind, 
Struck Caesar on the neck. 11 — Act V. Sc. 1. 

Here, it is not in (as in the stage direction) but on the 
neck (as it is in the Speech). 

Speech : " Should he have implored help ? He would 
rather have lost a thousand lives. Should he have cried 
out ? — that had been also an imploring of aid." 

So in the play : — 

*' Cos. Ccesar cried, 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink! ' 



Alas, it cried, i Give me some drink, Titinius,' — 
As a sick girl." ' — Act L Sc. 2. 

Speech : " Well, they came about him unarmed, and as 
a stag at bay, yet he never ceased to put himself in defense 
impoining of their weapons and all the means of an un- 
armed man. A form excellently well becoming a military 
man, though he knew it would not help" 

This simple prosaic idea of his being attacked unarmed 
and as a stag at bay is, in the play, poetically enlarged into 
the following imaginative amplification and higher diction 
of poetry, thus : — 

" Ant. — Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart ; 

Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, 

Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy Lethe. 

world, thou wast the forest to this hart; 

And this, indeed, world, the heart of thee. — 

How like a deer, stricken by many princes, 

Dost thou here lie ! "" — Act III. Sc. 1. 

It is. curious, also, that here is almost a pun on the word 
hart. Ben Jonson said of Bacon, that he could with diffi- 
culty "spare or pass by a jest." Something like this pun- 
ning play upon words is particularly noticed by Theobald, 
and it is evident enough to all as a habit of this writer, 
whether in prose or verse. Observe, too, that plain stag 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 677 

would do for prose, but for poetry the word must be hart or 
deer. Bay would answer for both ; but the prose phrase at 
bay had to be changed into the one-syllabled verb, either 
by the exigencies of the verse, or perhaps to give strength 
to the expression. Now, from these differences, a severe 
critic might be disposed to infer a different hand alto- 
gether, especially if he did not stop to note the identities 
also. The idea, however, the metaphor, the symbolism, the 
imagery, is identical; and making due allowance for the 
proper difference of the poetical and the prose style, I must 
venture to pronounce the passages not merely parallel, but 
essentially identical, — the coinage of the same brain, an 
unconscious reminiscence of one and the same full mind. 
Such critic, too, might remark that the prose style of the 
Masque is singularly stiff, cramped, elliptical, and brief, as 
if the writer were paying little attention to rhetorical finish, 
or elegance, and perhaps truly enough ; but it should be 
remembered, also, that while there are many parts of the 
plays that reach the highest elegance, beauty, and rhythm 
of musical verse, there are many other parts that are in 
nowise distinguished for such exquisite polish of words and 
musical flow as might be found in the nicest modern poets. 
Indeed, there is much reason for believing that this author 
was always more intent upon the substance than the form, 
the matter than the verse, and the elegance, depth, and 
beauty of the thought than the mere polish and jingle of 
words. 

Speech. " This word [and thou my son] turned itself 
afterwards into the likeness of an ill spirit that appeared 

unto him in his tent Noble Caesar, he had no 

weapon to wound Brutus again, but this word wounded, 
this word pierced him, this word enchanted him, this word 
made him ever despair of a final good success of the war, 
although the cause were just and his proceeding at the first 
prosperous." 

This same ill spirit makes his appearance again as fol- 
lows : — 



678 APPENDIX. 

Act IV. Sc. 3. Brutus' Tent, 
Enter the ghost of Caesar. 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus 

Bru. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
........... 

Bru. Julius Caesar! thou art mighty yet: 
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails." — Act V. Sc. 3. 

" Bru. Why this, Vol umnius. 

The ghost of C&sar hath appealed to me 
Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; 
And, this last night, here in Philippi fields. 
/ know my hour is come." — Act V. Sc. 5. 

Brutus is enchanted and in despair. 

Let this suffice for the " Julius Caesar." Considering 
that the Masque was written in 1592, and the play about 
1607 (having been first printed in the Folio of 1623), it 
would be a little remarkable that so many distinct traces 
of the same matter should appear in the play written so 
long afterwards, if there were not so many other instances 
of like kind ; for numerous like reminiscences of the ideas 
and words of some previous play appear in prose composi- 
tions of a long subsequent date, as has been before shown. 
As a general thing, however, like matter and the most 
striking metaphors and similitudes are sure to appear in 
some prose writing of Bacon and in some play that were 
both written at about the same time, or within a period of 
three or four years. It might occur to a captious critic that 
William Shakespeare had seen the Masque (which is indeed 
possible); but all possibility of borrowing is so absolutely 
excluded in so many instances of equal or even greater 
force than this as to preclude this explanation altogether. 
This has been demonstrated in the body of this work. 
Another example of it may be seen in what follows con- 
cerning the " Love's Labor's Lost." 

The second Speech of the Masque was in praise of the 
worthiest affection (i. e. Love). It is a general essay upon 
the nature of love as an affection of the mind. While the 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 679 

doctrines and ideas accord well enough with what may be 
found in the plays in general upon this subject, there seem 
to be but few of those particular identities of diction, or 
imagery, or other peculiarities, that are sufficiently marked 
to bear citation here. The most striking resemblances, 
however, are to be found in the " Love's Labor's Lost." 
This play must have been written at about the same time 
as the Masque (or but little before), being assigned to the 
period between 1588 and 1593 ; so that, looking to the 
dates, there is scarcely a possibility that William Shake- 
speare could have seen the Masque before the play was 
written. Some traces of this Speech might be expected to 
be found in it, if anywhere in the plays ; and it is precisely 
here that they are most distinct. The word honorific abili- 
tudinatibus has already been noticed in reference to the 
scribblings on the title-page of the Northumberland manu- 
script. Now, we are to compare the newly discovered 
speech itself with the play. 

Speech. " My praise shall be dedicated to the happiest 
state of the mind ; to the elevation of mind to the noblest 
affection. The virtues are moderators : they are the laws 
of the mind ; they restrain it, they limit it, they govern it, 

they amplify it not They be the affections 

which make the mind heroical, that give it power to exceed 
itself, and to fascinate and bind others, . . . . It is 
motion therefore that animateth all things : it is vain to 
think that any strength of nature can countervail a violent 
motion. The affections are the motions of the mind: the 

virtues pray in aid of the affections Let no 

man fear the yoke of fortune that is in the yoke of love. 
What fortune can be such a Hercules as shall be able to over- 
come two f . . • , Lastly, to leave where love begin- 
eth, who discerneth not that the eye is the most affecting 
sense ? They be tales, the propositions to the contrary. 

. . . . Now therefore love is a fountain of curi- 
osity, a most sweet ground set with infinite changes, a jour- 
ney of strangest and most various adventures." 



680 APPENDIX. 

Now compare Birone's speech in the play : — 

" Blr. For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, 

Have found the ground of study's excellence 

Without the beauty of a woman's face ? 
From women 1 s eyes this doctrine I derive: 
They are the ground, the books, the Academes, 
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. 
Why, universal plodding prisons up 

The nimble spirits in the arteries, 

As motion, and long-during action, tires 

The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, 
And study, too, the causer of your vow; 
For where is any author in the world, 

Teaches such learning as a woman's eye ? 



But love, first learn' d in a lady's eyes, 

Lives not alone immured in the brain, 

But with the motion of all the elements 

Courses as swift as thought in every power, 

And gives to every power a double power, 

Above their functions and their offices. 

It adds a precious seeing to the eye; 

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; 

A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. 

"When the suspicious head of thrift 1 is stopp'd: 

Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails: 

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. 

For valour is not Love a Hercules, 

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? " — Act IV. Sc. 3. 

And again : — 

" Arm. I think it scorn to sigh; methinks I should outswear 
Cupid. Comfort me, boy, what great men have been in love? 
Moth. Hercules, master! " — Act I. Sc. 2. 

And in the first act : — 

H Blr. Study me how to please the eye indeed, 
By fixing it upon a fairer eye; 
"Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, 
And give him light, that it was blinded by." 

The identities of thought, word, and simile, here, are so 
palpable and peculiar that no comment could make it 

l So Theobald's Shakespeare, II. 144; which I think is a better reading 
than " theft" 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 681 

plainer. It seems to set at defiance all attempt to explain 
it on the ground of accidental coincidence, or the common 
usage of contemporary writers, or mutual influence. I may 
conclude this comparison with a citation from the u As You 
Like It" : — 

" CeU It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a 
lover." — Act III. Sc. 2. 

And the following passage of the speech is, at least, sug- 
gestive of the melancholy of Jaques — " a melancholy of 
mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from 
many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my 
travels in which my often rumination wraps me* in a most 
humorous sadness." Act IV. Sc. 1. 

Speech. " The humour of melancholy importuneth those 
that are overcome with it, with the memory of the most 
affecting dislike. Confer with one who is entering to be 
melancholy ; shall you hear him complain of harsh sounds 
or odious savors represented to his imagination ? No, but 
always meditating of fearful and disliking forms." 

So the melancholy Jaques meditated, and moralized into 
" a thousand similes " of disliking forms whatever came in 
his way, from the " Seven Ages of Man " to the " motley 
Fool" and "poor sequestered stag" that 

" Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 

Augmenting it with tears 

Thus most invectively he pierceth through 

The body of the county, city, court, 

Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we 

Are mere usuiyers, tyrants, and what's worse, 

To fright the animals, and to kill them up 

In their assign'd and native dwelling-place." — Act II. Sc. 2. 

Now the mere fact that identities of this kind are found 
in this newly discovered writing of Bacon really adds but 
little to the force of the whole evidence as drawn from the 
writings hitherto well known, beyond the circumstance that 
every composition of his that turns up, especially of the 
period in which the plays were written, is sure to furnish 



682 APPENDIX. 

additional proof of his authorship of these plays. This is 
a kind of record evidence. It is not hearsay, nor mere 
matter of opinion. It is beyond any possibility of tamper- 
ing. All idea of borrowing is absolutely excluded. All 
attempt to explain it on the notion of the common usage of 
writers is simply futile. The identity of thought, diction, 
imagery, and manner, is palpable enough everywhere. 
This evidence lies, too, in the sphere of philosophical crit- 
icism of mind, morals, character, and language, where mere 
guessing, ordinary coincidences, common usage, or the 
dreams of fancy, are utterly vain and idle. It is emphat- 
ically the peculiar mode of thinking and writing of one 
and the same mind. No such similarity can be shown to 
exist between the writings of any two different persons in 
all literary history. The chief difference is only that which 
should distinguish the poetical style from plain prose. The 
prose and poetry of Milton are not more like, nor less 
different. 

It may very well be said that this new manuscript, 
unique and curious as it is, gives no additional result. At 
best, it must now be regarded as merely cumulative — 
more of the same sort. If the same issue had not already 
been sufficiently proved by an ample demonstration of evi- 
dence of like kind, then indeed it is possible that this new 
discovery will not much help the matter. The need really 
is, not so much of more evidence, as that what we have 
should be studied and duly weighed. The reader must be 
able to see with the mind's eye. If the physical eye could 
be brought to bear upon it, it might be so much the better, 
as when Newton wrote to Flamsteed to point his telescope 
at the moon, and see if she were actually there, where the 
theory of the heavens would place her. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 683 

Page 299. The Philosopher and the Poet are one. 

In further justification of this conclusion, I will refer to 
a late masterly Essay * upon the art and method of Shake- 
speare, in which these topics and the magic symbolism of 
the plays are exemplified and demonstrated, with an un- 
rivalled appreciation, in a particular examination of the 
" Twelfth Night," the " Hamlet," and the " Macbeth." 

The writer compares the " Macbeth " with the philoso- 
phy of Bacon on the nature and state of man, in respect 
of both body and mind, as given in the " Advancement " 
and the Latin enlargement of it in the " De Augmentis," 
and points out the stubborn fact that the play follows the 
additions of the latter, which Shakespeare could never have 
seen. He suggests that the great poet and the great phil- 
osopher may have arrived at the same ideas and conclu- 
sions, and remarks : — 

" If this be true, it presents one of the most extraordinary facts in the 
history of the human mind. It makes necessary the conclusion, that two 
men, living contemporaneously in the same town, then a comparatively 
small city, — one a philosopher, endowed with a most brilliant imagina- 
tion, the other a most imaginative poet, possessing the profoundest philo- 
sophical genius, and both reckoned among the greatest thinkers the world 
ever saw, — still, at the same time, and probably in the same year, and 
certainly at the same period of their lives, write, without any interchange 
of views or opinions, upon the same identical subject, follow the same train 
of thought, arrive at the same conclusions, and digest the same results of 
their study, reading, and meditation, into the same system or body of 
philosophy, the which one stated to the world in abstract scientific propo- 
sitions, while the other embodied it in poetic forms and dramatic creation. 
No coincidence of mental action so remarkable as this can be found, it is 
believed, in any age of the world, however prolific of genius." 2 

Obvious and inevitable as the proper conclusion here is, 
the writer nowhere ventures to say, even if he thought, 
that this philosopher and this poet were in fact the same 
person, and that Francis Bacon. It might require some 
boldness to declare that the fact was so, and some courage 
even to confess a belief. 

1 The Method of Shakespeare as an Artist, etc., by Henry I. Ruggles, 
New York, 1870. 

2 Ibid. p. 289. 



684 APPENDIX. 



Page 432. Creation. 

Indeed the author of " Hamlet " would seem to have 

been aware that all creation is artist-mind work, whether 

human or divine : — 

" Ham. My father, — methinks I see my father. 
Hor. 0, where, my lord ? 
Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio." 

Page 444. Dreams. 

" We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on, 1 and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep." — Tempest, Act IV. Sc. 1." 

It may not be certain that this passage was borrowed, 
but it sounds like a reminiscence, from Sophocles. The phil- 
osophical conception as to the mode of creation as being a 
work of thought is essentially identical with that which is 
implied in these lines of the Greek poet : — 

oput yap i)ft.a<; ovSiv 6vt<x<; aXXo, 7rAyjj/ 

eiSoj\\ oaoinep £u>/xey, rj <ov(prjv CKiav. — Ajax, 125-6. 

[I see we're nothing else, just as we are, 
But dreams: our life is but a fleeting shadow.] 

Pindar has a similar expression : — 

ETra/xepoi. tl 6e rig \ rt 6* ov Ttg j 

2/aas ovap y a.vBpn>iroi. — Ccirm. II. r\ 135. 

[What are we, what not, but ephemera ! 
The shadow of a dream is man.] 

A similar idea comes from the Talmud : — 

"The life of man is like a passing shadow ; not the shadow of a house, 
or a tree, but of the bird that flies: in a moment, both bird and shadow 
are gone." 

The German philosopher, Schopenhauer, has noticed this 

resemblance of Shakespeare to Sophocles. He adds : 

" Life and dream are leaves of one and the sahie book : 

actual life is a reading in causal connection, but a dream is 

only here and there a leaf, without order or dependence ; 

1 Theobald's Shakespeare, i. 59. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 685 

and we have to admit, with the poets, that life is but a 
longer dream. " x 

Page 468. The cliff. 

Hamlet was on this same high road that conducts the 
traveller " to places precipitous and impassable," and he 
was as ready as Gloster himself to take the fearful leap : — 

"Ham. It will not speak ; then will I follow it. 

Hot. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 
I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
Being a thing immortal as itself ? 
It warns me forth again: — I'll follow it. 

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, 
0?' to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
That beetles o'er his base into the sea, 
And there assume some other horrible form, 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason." — Act I. Sc. 4. 

The next five lines — 

" And draw you unto madness? think of it: 
The very place puts toys of desperation, 
Without more motive, into every brain 
That looks so many fadoms to the sea, 
And hears it roar beneath, — " 

were omitted in the Folio of 1623, and probably by the 
author himself, and for two reasons, perhaps : first, that 
they add little or nothing to the sense or force of what has 
been said already ; and second, that as the critics find (on 
comparison with the previous quartos), several such passages, 
some of them containing wise maxims and important teach- 
ings, were weeded out in the Folio, and most probably, be- 
cause they too much incumbered the onward progress of 
the dramatic action. 

Again, Hamlet exclaims from the very summit of the 
cliff: — 

11 Ham. What may this mean, 

That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel 

Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 

l Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, i. 20, Leipzig, 1859. 



686 APPENDIX. 

Making night hideous and we fools of nature 

So horribly to shake our disposition, 

With thouyhis beyond the reaches of our souls f " — Act I. Sc. 4. 

In a grave business paper, in 1604 (the same year in 
which the perfected u Hamlet " was first printed), we find 
Bacon speaking of " his royal Majesty's sovereign and high 
wisdom " as 6: able to pierce and penetrate far beyond the 
reach of our capacities ; " 1 — so naturally do analogous 
ideas fall into like forms of expression, with the same au- 
thor, even in compositions of the most diverse kinds. 

Page 469. The fingers of the powers above. 

In another place, Bacon uses the expression " the provi- 
dence and finger of God." 2 It is also used by Sir Simonds 
D'Ewes, 3 in 1634 (speaking of John Winthrop and his Pu- 
ritan colonists), thus : " That the very finger of God hath 
hitherto gone ivith them." And I notice this as one of the 
many instances in which the common use of the time might 
be sufficient to explain a parallelism of this nature. It 
was doubtless a common phrase of speech with which 
Shakespeare, as well as Bacon, or D'Ewes, might have 
been familiar. The citations prove, however, that Bacon 
was in fact in the habit of using it ; but there is no evi- 
dence whatever that William Shakespeare did in fact use 
it in a single instance. If it stood alone it might go for 
nothing. But it does not stand alone, but is associated and 
inseparably connected with other expressions still more 
marked and peculiar, such as " shaking off her flesh " and 
" shuffling off this mortal coil ; " so that we have, not the 
single resemblance only, but the assembled concatenation 
of resemblances in one and the same whole picture in both 
writings. 

1 Spedding's Letters and Life of Bacon, III. 245. 

2 Ibid. IV. 120. 

8 Autobiography, etc., by J. 0. Halliwell, II. 116, London, 1845. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 687 



Page 491. The giants' three hills. 

" Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossam, 
Scilicet atque Ossse frondosum involvere Olympum: '.' — 

(Mountain on mountain thrice they strove to heap, 
Olympus, Ossa, piled onPelion's steep ;) — 

When these lines (with the translation) were cited from 
Bacon's Works, 1 I had not noticed that we have in the 
" Hamlet," a substantial translation of this same Latin coup- 
let by the author himself ; and though that given above is 
very good, I think u Hamlet's " much better, thus : — 

" Ham. Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 

Of blue Olympus." 

"And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us, till our ground, 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
Make Ossa like a wart." — Act V. Sc. 1. 

In the passage cited from Bacon, the allusion was, doubt- 
less, to the giants Otus and Ephialtes, sons of Neptune 
and Aloeis, who attempted to scale Heaven, in that manner, 
until transfixed by the darts of Apollo and Diana, accord- 
ing to Longinus, 2 — kcli to. 7repl tovs 'AXwaSas ra> TTOLrjrrj 
irap ar eroXfx-qix eVa, 

*0<r<rav err' 0\vfMir<a fxcfxao-avOcfJiev avrap err' "Ocarf 
Hrj\i.ov eivocri<f>vWoV) iv ovpavbs aju./?aTOS etif. 

Longinus cites the lines from Homer ("Odyss." XL v. 315), 
but Bacon takes them directly from Virgil : — 

11 Et conjuratos ccelum rescindere fratres: 
Ter sunt conati," etc. — Virg., Georg., I. v. 280. 

Page 498. Heaven and earth. 

Bearing in mind that Bacon's notion was that the soul 
was not a part of " heaven and earth " (i. e. the material 

1 Works (Boston), VIIL 507. 

2 De Sublimitate, Dublin, 1733, pp. 26-28. 



688 APPENDIX. 

world), but was " a spirit newly inclosed in a body of 
earth," and that spirits were breathed directly from God, 
" so that the ways of God with spirits are not included in 
Nature or the laws of heaven and earth " (using the word 
heaven in the ancient sense as synonymous with the sky, 
or the heavens, and not in our modern sense of a spiritual 
sphere beyond the skies), we shall be in a position to see 
the point of Hamlet's remark ; for the poet, for his pur- 
poses, had actually brought the ghost upon the scene within 
the reach of mortal sight, as if he were a part of heaven 
and earth, Now Horatio, reflecting upon this wonderful 
appearance of the ghost (who had thus unceremoniously 
included himself in the actual phenomena of Nature), and 
awakened, perhaps, to some slight reminiscence of that an- 
cient birth of Cupid from underneath the " brooding wing 
of Night," thus exclaims : — 

" Hor. day and night, but this is wond'rous strange ! 
Ham. And therefore as a stranger, give it welcome. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dream'd of in our philosophy." — Act 1. Sc. 5. 

Evidently the idea had occurred to Hamlet that a ghost 
might become a visible part of heaven and earth (according 
to Bacon's use of the words), though such a thing had not 
been dreamed of in the received philosophy. But in the 
ordinary course of nature, a soul was to be regarded as 
"the simplest of substances," and as "a special and peculiar 
work of Providence," enjoying no rest, according to the 
axiom that "the motion of things out of their place is rapid, 
and in their place calm ; " and hence, — 

" There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins: 
Such harmony is in immortal souls." — Mer. of Ven. f V. Sc. 1. 

All this, too, is in full accordance with the theory of his 

metaphors in his learned argument on the Postnati; 1 "so 

we see, there be precedents or platforms of monarchies, both 

i Works (Boston), XV. 198. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 689 

in nature and above nature ; even from the monarch of 
heaven and earth to the king (if you will) in a hive of 
bees." 

In a recent work on British Philosophy, 1 the writer, 
discussing this subject, quotes these lines from the " Ham- 
let," as being "a godsend to the Spiritualists," but con- 
cludes that the doctrine taught is nothing more after all 
than " a stronger form of the always philosophical notion 
that the phenomenal cosmos of our sentiency is not neces- 
sarily the phenomenal cosmos of all contemporary sen- 
tiency." The chief difference here between our philosopher 
and the poet would seem to be merely this, that while the 
philosopher was perfectly aware that spirits (immortal 
souls) might have a phenomenal sentiency and a visible ap- 
pearance, "above nature," to one another, or to the "quiring 
angels and young-ey'd cherubins," the poet thought proper 
to bring that fact down into heaven and earth, to the tangi- 
ble apprehension of the stage ; but the " perturbed spirit " 
(thus in motion out of place) was forbid to tell the secrets 
of his prison-house, since 

— " this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood." 

For the author doubtless knew that beings thus constituted 

must necessarily be invisible to mortal sight, otherwise than 

by the magic of Prospero, or in the way that Hamlet saw 

his father — 

— " In my mind's eye, Horatio." 

And perhaps the author had read, if he did not copy (as 

Theobald thought 2 ), this passage from Lucretius: — 

M Quod multa in Terris fieri, Coeloque tuentur, 
Quorum operum causas nulla ratione videre 
Possunt." — Lib. I. v. 152. 

Somewhat similar notions are manifest in these lines : — 

11 Hot. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 

1 Recent British Philosophy, by David Masson, New York, 1866, p. 234. 

2 Theobald's Shakespeare, VII. 257. 

44 



690 APPENDIX. 

The graves stood tenantless; the sheeted dead 

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; 

Stars shone with trains of fire, dews of blood fell; 

Disasters veil'd the sun ; and the moist star, 

Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 

Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse; 

And even the like precurse of fierce events, 

As harbingers preceding still the Fates, 

And prologue to the omen'd coming-on, 

Have Heaven and Earth together demonstrated 

Unto our climatures and countrymen. " * — Act I. Sc, 2. 

These lines were omitted from the Folio of 1623. 
Whether it were one of those passages that had to be 
weeded out as superfluous, or were dropped out by mere 
accident in printing, must be matter of conjecture ; but it 
would seem to be much in the vein and habit of thinking 
of this author. 

The same words are used again, in the second part of the 
" Henry VL," in a like sense, but in a somewhat different 
connection, thus : — 

" CUf. O let the vile world end, 

And the premised flames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven together! ' 7 — Act V. Sc. 3. 

Upon this word premised, Theobald made the observa- 
tion, that " Shakespeare is very peculiar in his adjectives ; 
and it is much in his manner to use the words borrowed 
from the Latin closer to their original signification than 
they were vulgarly used in ; so here he uses premised in 
the sense of the word from which it is derived, prcemissus " 2 
(i. e. cent before). This is the use of a writer whose mind 
is so thoroughly imbued with the Latin language that he 
unconsciously incorporates it into his English. Other crit- 
ics have remarked this of these plays, and also of Bacon. 
It is a constant peculiarity of his writings, far beyond what 
was common with the writers of his time ; and it is scarcely 
to be questioned that he enlarged the King's English out 

of the Latin. 

i Theobald's Shakespeare, IV. 295. 
2 Ibid., VII. 229. 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 691 



Page 513. Providence and Fate, 
I have endeavored to show that an idealistic philosophy 
lies at the foundation of Bacon's physical science, however 
obscurely disseminated in scattered fragments, or vaguely 
inwrapped in his somewhat strange, half scientific, half poet- 
ical, but sublimely imaginative and grandly speculative 
manner. His depths are not easily fathomed, and his sys- 
tem has many phases. He is a sort of Plato, Aristotle, 
and Homer, all in one. He reiterates Parmenides, that, 
in the last analysis, being and knowing is all one. He 
figures the universe as an intellectual globe, with phys- 
ical and metaphysical hemispheres. He anticipates, and 
in a measure foretells, the operations, organizations, in- 
strumentalities, and developments of the modern sciences. 
He declares that heat is motion, that matter is a form or 
mode of motion, and that there is transition of species. 
He begins a reinstauration of all science, and predicts its 
completion. He would have a Natural History that should 
be, like another Scripture, exact and true upon the verity 
of an oath. He would have the Book of God's Works 
read from beginning to end. He would have a marriage of 
the Human Mind to the Universe, with the Divine Good- 
ness for bridesmaid. The mind of man was capable of the 
image of the universal world, and he would have its con- 
ceptions copied there for instruction and use. He converts 
all the realms of nature into a symbolism of thought and 
a means of expression. All fantastic gods, spirits, and 
demons, he remits, without benefit of clergy, to the " limbo 
of Paracelsus and the darksome authors of magic." It 
was man's business to live in the world as it is found, 
make himself master of all the powers of nature, and learn 
to live wisely. He reconstructs from the foundations the 
scheme of morals and of the civil State. He makes an 
anatomy of the characters, natures, and dispositions of men 
and women. He paints the colors of good and evil. There 



692 APPENDIX. 

was a lesser Providence, and a greater as well. There was 
a Fate, too, which was also a kind of Providence, if con- 
ceived and known aright. The highest wisdom in the con- 
duct of life he would place before the eyes of men in the 
most attractive form as in a model, where the higher moral, 
social, and civil laws, the interplay of Free Will, Fate, and 
Providence, the differences of good and evil, the contrasts 
of vice and virtue, of honor and baseness, of justice and 
injustice, of love and hate, of chastity and lewdness, of cour- 
age and weakness — all the antinomies of confounding con- 
traries— through the entire scale of the passions, emotions, 
vanities, and nobilities of human nature, with inevitable and 
exact measure of justice and retributive divine vengeance, 
too, might be seen and heard and felt, if not wholly under- 
stood. 

Such models we seem to have in these plays of Shake- 
speare. At any rate, we may discover, in the "Measure 
for Measure," the just Duke and the unjust Athenian sub 
stitute, the chaste Isabella and the Lucio of lewdness ; in 
the " Henry IV.," the Hotspur of honor in extreme, and the 
Falstaff of baseness bedizened in wit, exhibited in full con- 
trast of opposites and consequences ; in the " As You Like 
It," the thoughtful melancholy of the seer in Jaques and 
the sprightly Rosalind of fortune's changes, instructed of a 
great magician ; in the " Timon of Athens," the vicissitudes 
of wealth and patronage, the unbalanced misanthrope and 
the well-poised philosopher, who understands the secrets of 
nature and art, and sees the highest beauty in life and mo- 
tion as the work of creative thought ; in the " Tempest," 
the Prospero of universal knowledge and the Caliban of 
savage ignorance, half human, half brute; in the * Troilus 
and Cressida," the marriage of mind to the universe, 
thought and oblivion in the wisest men ; in the " Macbeth," 
the victim of violated conscience and superstitious error, in 
contrast with the anticipations of true foreknowledge ; and 
in the " Richard III.," the deformity of body and soul that 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 693 

makes a devil quoting Scripture and a tyrant of will and 
power in one, riding rough-shod over all laws, divine and 
human, till the avenging Nemesis nicks the thread. In the 
Roman plays may be found the maxims of civil polity, the 
antitheses of democracy and imperialism, the individual 
person and the family or nation, fortitude (whereof Brutus 
is the great exemplar) and weakness in state and person 
(as in Antony and Cleopatra) ; and in other plays, also, the 
characters, natures, and dispositions of men and women, as 
if they had been a study from the life. In the " Wars of 
the Roses," may be seen the true sovereignty, falling by 
weakness and folly, and the false usurpation, bringing end- 
less evils on the state and people. And finally (not to 
enumerate the whole), in the great play of " Lear/' more 
particularly are exhibited the terrible workings of fate upon 
all mankind, and especially upon those who fail to heed the 
invisible and inexorable laws, and the chances and fatalities 
as well, — the old King grown unwise, who banishes his 
best counsellor, and cannot distinguish the good from the 
bad in " such different issues " as are governed by the stars, 
- — the unaccommodated man, even in the honest Edgar, 
whom 

" — the heavens' plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes," — 

and the blind Gloster, too, — 

" — that will not see, 
Because he does not feel," — 

who has no way, and therefore wants no eyes, having stum- 
bled when he saw. 

There is nothing more remarkable in the plays, perhaps, 
than this sure unrolling of Parca's fatal web. Here, may 
be remembered the fate of Rosencranz and Guilderstern, 
who were sent with Hamlet to England, bearing secret dis- 
patches to the King to put Hamlet to death on his arrival 
there. Hamlet managed to alter the dispatches, on board 
ship, and escaped back to Denmark. These willing instru- 



694 APPENDIX. 

ments of a nefarious transaction, on their arrival in En 2- 
land, were put to death in his stead ; and when the news of 
their death was announced to Hamlet in Denmark, he made 
this notable observation : — 

" Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this employment; 
They are not near my conscience; their defeat 
Does by their own insinuation grow. 
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 
Between the pass and fell incensed points 
Of mighty opposites." 

And in the final scene, the principal actors in this life- 
drama come inexorably between the pass of the poisoned 
cups and rapiers, and the intricate web of fate and retribu- 
tion, which they have all been so industriously weaving for 
themselves, is suddenly unraveled in a very surprising and 
tragic manner. Hamlet dies, wishing only to be reported 
aright : - — 

" Ham. Report me and my cause aright 

To the unsatisfied 

The rest is silence." 

Indeed, in the moral aspect, the complications of Fate 
and Free Will that almost inevitably arise out of the lim- 
itations of nature and the contradictions of human weak- 
ness, folly, and depravity, to the physical, civil, and moral 
laws, and to the eternal principles of reason, justice, honor, 
love, and truth, — to the order of Providence in the Uni- 
verse, — are displayed in a marvelous manner throughout 
the plays, in which the whole fabric and order of discovery, 
in the highest and noblest subjects, are (as Bacon ex- 
pressed it) "placed under the very eyes, as in a represen- 
tative visible history, or a speaking picture." In the 
* Hamlet," more especially, the wisest teachings are cun- 
ningly interspersed, or woven into the texture of the story. 
The whole portraiture is artistically shaded into light and 
darkness, — into all the colors of good and evil. The strug- 
gles of the greatest and purest soul with the dark prob- 
lems of life and eternity, in a bewildering maze of fatalities 



ADDITIONAL MATTERS. 695 

and powers that lie beyond their knowledge or control, 
are exhibited in the most tragic and awful grandeur. The 
imagery and the symbolism are like a work of magic. 
The piece is tempered with the finest feeling, and seasoned 
with religion as with salt. And the higher philosophy of 
the supernatural in the natural shines through it, illumin- 
ating from within both the structure and the surface, as if 
it were, like the universal world itself, all swimming in a 
sea of celestial fire. 

Page 516. Art and Nature. 

This doctrine of Bacon, that Art is subject to Nature, is 
translated into poetic diction, and aptly illustrated in Shy- 
lock's story of Jacob and Laban's sheep and the streaked 
and pied lambs, Laban's thrift with the peeled wands, and 
Antonio's reply, in the " Merchant of Venice " : — 

" Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of Heaven." — Act I. Sc. 3. 

It appears again in the " All >s Well That Ends Well : " — 

" Lafieur. A shewing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor — the 
very hand of Heaven. 
Par. Aye, so say I. 
Lafl. In a most weak — 

Par. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence.' ' — 

Act II. Sc. 3. 

So, the allegory of Atalanta signified that Art was 

swifter than Nature, " and as we may say the better runner, 

and comes sooner to the goal ; " and this piece of ancient 

wisdom, thus vividly impressed upon the writer's memory, 

might readily furnish him with another brilliant metaphor, 

thus : — 

" Jaques. You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's 
heels." 

Again, we have a similar expression in the " Antony and 
Cleopatra," thus : — 

" O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see 
The fancy outwork Nature." — Act II. Sc. 2. 



696 APPENDIX. 

Theobald notes this passage " as alluding to that fine 
picture done by Apelles, the beauty and limbs of which 
he copied, 'tis said, from Campaspe, his beloved mistress," 
and cites Ovid : — 

44 Si Venerem Cous nunquam posuisset Apelles, 
Mersa sub aequoris Ilia lateret aquis." 1 

Page 535. The world-prison. 

It may be well to note that this idea of the world being 
a prison may have come from Longinus. It is related in 
his Life, 2 that his fame as a critic and philosopher drew 
him from Athens to the Court of Queen Zenobia, who 
finally made him her chief counsellor, and that he dic- 
tated the Queen's letter to the Emperor Aurelian (when be- 
sieged by him in Palmyra), which so offended him, that 
when they were both taken captives, Zenobia was pardoned, 
but Longinus ordered to be put to death ; and that he died 
unmoved, like a philosopher, addressing his friends (who 
sought to console him) in these last words : " Si terra non 
aliud quam magnus quidem career eodstimari debeat, eum 
felicissimum esse, qui primus in libertatem vindicetur" 
(If the world is to be deemed nothing other than a great 
prison, then is he the most happy who is first to gain his 
liberty.) 

1 Theobald's Shakespeare, VI. 242. 

2 Longinus De Sublimitate, by Z. Pearce, A. M., Dublini, 1733, p.xxxi. 






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